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here came to him a Hand with some 
of the leaves of the tree of life . 











CONCLUSION .......... 162 


" PILGRIM "......... 163 

THE SECOND PART ......... 173 


OF HIS " HOLY WAR" ....... 314 



OF THE TREE OF LIFE ..... Frontispiece 





OF DEATH ........ ,, 76 

REMEMBER LOT'S WIFE ...... ,, 108 


DESPAIR ........ ,,114 




DEATH ........ ,.156 


MAN ......... ,, 286 




WHEN at the first I took my Pen in hand 
Thus for to write ; I did not understand 
That I at all should make a little Book 
In such a mode; Nay, I had undertook 
To make another, which when almost done, 
Before I was aware I this begun. 

And thus it was : I writing of the Way 
And Race of Saints, in this our Gospel-day, 
Fell suddenly into an Allegory 
About their Journey, and the way to Glory, 
In more than twenty things which I set down-. 
This done, I twenty more had in my Crown, 
And they again began to multiply, 
Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. 
Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out 
The Book that I already am about. 

Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
To shew to all the World my Pen and Ink 
In such a mode ; I only thought to make 
I knew not what: nor did I undertake 
Thereby to please my Neighbour; no not I, 
I did it mine own self to gratifie. 

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
In this my Scribble : nor did I intend 
But to divert myself in doing this 
From worser thoughts which make me do amiss. 

Thus I set Pen to Paper with delight, 


And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. 

For having now my Method by the end, 

Still as I pull'd, it came ; and so I penn'd 

It down, until it came at last to be 

For length and breadth the bigness which you see. 

Well, when I had thus put mine ends together, 
I shew'd them others, that I might see whether 
They would condemn them, or them justify: 
And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die; 
Some said, John, print it ; others said, Not so : 
Some said, It might do good ; others said, No. 

Now was I in a strait, and did not see 
Which was the best thing to be done by me : 
At last I thought, Since you are thus divided, 
I print it will, and so the case decided. 

For, thought I, some I see would have it done, 
Though others in that Channel do not run. 
To prove then who advised for the best, 
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. 

I further thought, if now I did deny 
Those that would have it thus, to gratifie, 
I did not know but hinder them I might 
Of that which would to them be great delight. 

For those which were not for its coming forth, 
I said to them, Offend you I am loth, 
Yet since your Brethren pleased with it be v 
Forbear to judge till you do further see. 

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone ; 
Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone: 
Yea, that I might them better palliate, 
I did too with them thus Expostulate : 

May I not write in such a style as this ? 
In such a method too, and yet not miss 
Mine end, thy good ? why may it not be done ? 
Dark Clouds bring Waters, when the bright bring none. 
Yea, dark or bright, if they their Silver drops 


Cause to descend, the Earth, by yielding Crops, 

Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either, 

But treasures up the Fruit they yield together; 

Yea, so commixes both, that in her Fruit 

None can distinguish this from that : they suit 

Her well, when hungry; but, if she be full, 

She spues out both, and makes their blessings null. 

You see the ways the Fisher man doth take 
To catch the Fish; what Engines doth he make? 
Behold how he engageth all his Witsj 
Also his Snares, Lines, Angles, Hooks, and Nets. 
Yet Fish there be, that neither Hook, nor Line, 
Nor Snare, nor Net, nor Engine can make thine ; 
They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too, 
Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do. 

How doth the Fowler seek to catch his Game 
By divers means, all which one cannot name ? 
His Gun, his Nets, his Lime-twigs, Light, and Bell; 
He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea who can tell 
Of all his postures ? Yet there's none of these 
Will make him master of what Fowls he please. 
Yea, he must Pipe and Whistle to catch this ; 
Yet if he does so, that Bird he will miss. 

If that a Pearl may in a Toad's head dwell, 
And may be found too in an Oyster-shell ; 
If things that promise nothing do contain 
What better is than Gold ; who will disdain, 
That have an inkling of it, there to look, 
That they may find it ? Now my little Book 
(Though void of all those Paintings that may make 
It with this or the other man to take) 
Is not without those things that do excel 
What do in brave but empty notions dwell. 

Well, yet I am not fully satisfied, 
That this your Book will stand, when soundly try'd. 

Why, what's the matter ? It is dark. What tho ? 


But it is feigned. What of that I tro? 
Some men, by feigning words as dark as mine, 
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine. 
But they want solidness. Speak man thy mind. 
They drowned the weak ; Metaphors make us blind. 

Solidity indeed becomes the Pen 
Of him that writeth things Divine to men; 
But must I needs want solidness, because 
By Metaphors I speak ? Were not God's Laws, 
His Gospel-Laws, in olden time held forth 
By Types, Shadows, and Metaphors ? Yet loth 
Will any sober man be to find fault 
With them, lest he be found for to assault 
The highest Wisdom. No, he rather stoops, 
And seeks to find out what by Pins and Loops, 
By Calves, and Sheep, by Heifers, and by Rams, 
By Birds, and Herbs, and by the blood of Lambs, 
God speaketh to him. And happy is he 
That finds the light and grace that in them be. 

Be not too forward therefore to conclude 
That I want solidness, that I am rude: 
All things solid in shew not solid be ; 
All things in Parables despise not we ; 
Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive, 
And things that good are, of our souls bereave. 

My dark and cloudy words they do but hold 
The truth, as Cabinets inclose the Gold. 

The Prophets used much by Metaphors 
To set forth Truth; yea, whoso considers 
Christ, his Apostles too, shall plainly see, 
That Truths to this day in such Mantles be. 

Am I afraid to say that Holy Writ, 
Which for its Style and Phrase puts down all Wit, 
Is everywhere so full of all these things, 
Dark Figures, Allegories ? Yet there springs 
From that same Book that lustre, and those rays 


Of light, that turns our darkest nights to days. 

Come, let my Carper to his Life now look, 
And find there darker lines than in my Book 
He findeth any, Yea, and let him know, 
That in his best things there are worse lines too. 

May we but stand before impartial men, 
To his poor One I dare adventure Ten, 
That they will take my meaning in these lines 
Far better than his lies in Silver Shrines. 
Come ! Truth, although in Swaddling-clouts, I find, 
Informs the Judgment, rectifies the Mind, 
Pleases the Understanding, makes the Will 
Submit ; the Memory too it doth fill 
With what doth our Imagination please ; 
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 

Sound words I know Timothy is to use, 
And old Wives' Fables he is to refuse ; 
But yet grave Paul him nowhere doth forbid 
The use of Parables ; in which lay hid 
That Gold, those Pearls, and precious stones that were 
Worth digging for, and that with greatest care. 

Let me add one word more. O man of God, 
Art thou offended ? Dost thou wish I had 
Put forth my matter in another dress, 
Or that I had in things been more express ? 
Three things let me propound, then I submit 
To those that are my betters, as is fit. 

i. I find not that I am denied the use 
Of this my method, so I no abuse 
Put on the Words, Things, Readers ; or be rude 
In handling Figure or Similitude, 
In application ; but, all that I may, 
Seek the advance of Truth, this or that way. 
Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave, 
(Example too, and that from them that have 
God better pleased, by their words or ways, 


Than any man that breatheth now-a-days) 
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
Things unto thee, that excellentest are. 

2. I find that men (as high as Trees) will write 
Dialogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight 
For writing so : Indeed if they abuse 

Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use 

To that intent ; but yet let Truth be free 

To make her sallies upon thee and me, 

Which way it pleases God. For who knows how, 

Better than he that taught us first to Plow, 

To guide our Mind and Pens for his Design ? 

And he makes base things usher in Divine. 

3. I find that Holy Writ in many places 

Hath semblance with this method, where the cases 
Do call for one thing, to set forth another; 
Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother 
Truth's golden Beams: nay, by this method may 
Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. 

And now, before I do put up my Pen, 
I'll shew the profit of my Book, and then 
Commit both thee and it unto that hand 
That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand. 

This Book it chalketh out before thine eyes 
The man that seeks the everlasting Prize; 
It shews you whence he comes, whither he goes, 
What he leaves undone, also what he does ; 
It also shews you how he runs and runs, 
Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes. 

It shews too, who set out for life amain, 
As if the lasting Crown they would obtain; 
Here also you may see the reason why 
They lose their labour and like Fools do die. 

This Book will make a Traveller of thee, 
If by its Counsel thou wilt ruled be; 
It will direct thee to the Holy Land, 


If thou wilt its directions understand: 
Yea, it will make the slothful active be; 
The blind also delightful things to see. 

Art thou for something rare and profitable ? 
Wouldest thou see a Truth within a Fable ? 
Art thou forgetful ? Wouldest thou remember 
From New-year's-day to the last of December? 
Then read my Fancies, they will stick like Burrs, 
And may be to the Helpless, Comforters. 

This Book is writ in such a Dialect 
As may the minds of listless men affect : 
It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
Nothing but sound and honest Gospel strains. 

Would'st thou divert thyself from Melancholy ? 
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly ? 
Would'st thou read Riddles, and their Explanation? 
Or else be drowned in thy Contemplation ? 
Dost thou love picking meat ? Or would'st thou see 
A man i' th' Clouds, and hear him speak to thee ? 
Would'st thou be in a Dream, and yet not sleep? 
Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep ? 
Wouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm, 
And find thyself again without a charm ? 
Would'st read thyself, and read thou know'st not what, 
And yet know whether thou art blest or not, 
By reading the same lines ? O then come hither, 
And lay my Book, thy Head and Heart together. 







'I have used similitudes." Hos. xii. 10 



AS I walk'd through the wilderness of this 
world, I lighted on a certain place 
where was a Den, and I laid me down in that 
place to sleep; and as I slept I dreamed a 
Dream. I Dreamed, and behold I saw a man 
clothed with Rags, standing in a certain place, 
with his face from his own house, a Book in his 
hand, and a great Burden upon his back. I 
looked, and saw him open the Book, and read 
therein; and as he read, he wept and trembled; 
and not being able longer to contain, he brake 
out with a lamentable cry, saying, What shall 
I do? 

In this plight therefore he went home, and 
refrained himself as long as he could, that his 
Wife and Children should not perceive his 
distress, but he could not be silent long, because 
that his trouble increased: wherefore at length 
he brake his mind to his Wife and Children; 
and thus he began to talk to them : O my dear 
Wife, said he, and you the Children of my 
bowels, I your dear friend am in myself undone 
by reason of a Burden that lieth hard upon me; 
moreover, I am for certain informed that this 
our City will be burned with fire from Heaven; 
in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with 


thee my Wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miserably come 
to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape 
can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his 
Relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed 
that what he said to them was true, but because they 
thought that some frenzy distemper had got into his head ; 
therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that 
sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got him 
to bed: But the night was as troublesome to him as the 
day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs 
and tears. So, when the morning was come, they would 
know how he did; and he told them, Worse and worse: 
he also set to talking to them again, but they began to be 
hardened: they also thought to drive away his distemper 
by harsh and surly carriages to him; sometimes they would 
deride, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes they 
would quite neglect him: wherefore he began to retire 
himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and 
also to condole his own misery ; he would also walk solitarily 
in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: 
and thus for some days he spent his time. 

Now, I saw upon a time, when he was walking in the 
fields, that he was, as he was wont, reading in his Book, 
and greatly distressed in his mind; and as he read, he 
burst out, as he had done before, crying, What shall I do 
to be saved ? 

Christian no sooner leaves the World but meets 
Evangelist, who lovingly him greets 
With tidings of another: and doth shew 
Him how to mount to that from this below. 

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if 
he would run; yet he stood still, because, as I perceived, 
he could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and 
saw a Man named Evangelist, coming to him, and asked, 
Wherefore dost thou cry? He answered, Sir, I perceive 
by the Book in my hand, that I am condemned to die, 


and after that to come to Judgment; and I find that I 
am not willing to do the first, nor able to do the 

Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die? since 
this life is attended with so many evils ? The Man answered, 
Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will 
sink me lower than the Grave, and I shall fall into Tophet. 
And, Sir, if I be not fit to go to Prison, I am not fit, I am 
sure, to go to Judgment, and from thence to Execution; 
and the thoughts of these things make me cry. 

Then said Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why 
standest thou still? He answered, Because I know not 
whither to go. Then he gave him a Parchment-roll, and 
there was written within, Fly from the wrath to come. 

The Man therefore read it, and looking upon Evangelist 
very carefully, said, Whither must I fly? Then said 
Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide Field, 
Do you see yonder Wicket-gate? The Man said, No. 
Then said the other, Do you see yonder shining Light? 
He said, I think I do. Then said Evangelist, Keep that 
Light in your eye, and go up directly thereto : so shalt thou 
see the Gate; at which when thou knockest, it shall be 
told thee what thou shalt do. 

So I saw in my Dream that the Man began to run. 
Now he had not run far from his own door, but his Wife 
and Children, perceiving it, began to cry after him to 
return; but the Man put his fingers in his ears, and ran 
on, crying, Life! Life! Eternal Life! So he looked not 
behind him, but fled towards the middle of the Plain. 

The Neighbours also came out to see him run; and as 
he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried 
after him to return: Now among those that did so, there 
were two that resolved to fetch him back by force. The 
name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other 
Pliable. Now by this time the Man was got a good distance 
from them; but, however, they were resolved to pursue 


him, which they did, and in little time they overtook him. 
Then said the Man, Neighbours, wherefore are you come? 
They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he 
said, That can by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the 
City of Destruction (the place also where I was born), I 
see it to be so; and dying there, sooner or later, you will 
sink lower than the Grave, into a place that burns with 
Fire and Brimstone: be content, good Neighbours, and go 
along with me. 

OBST. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends and 
our comforts behind us! 

CHR. Yes, said Christian (for that was his name), 
because that all which you shall forsake is not worthy to 
be compared with a little of that that I am seeking to enjoy; 
and if you will go along with me, and hold it, you shall fare 
as I myself; for there where I go is enough and to spare: 
Come away, and prove my words. 

OBST. What are the things you seek, since you leave 
all the world to find them? 

CHR. I seek an Inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and 
that fadeth not away, and it is laid up in Heaven, and fast 
there, to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on them that 
diligently seek it. Read it so, if you will, in my Book. 

OBST. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your Book ; will 
you go back with us or no? 

CHR. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my 
hand to the Plough. 

OBST. Come then, Neighbour Pliable, let us turn again, 
and go home without him; there is a Company of these 
Craz'd-headed Coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy 
by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men 
that can render a reason. 

PLI. Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good 
Christian says is true, the things he looks after are better 
than ours; my heart inclines to go with my Neighbour. 

OBST. What! more fools still? Be ruled by me, and 


go back; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow 
will lead you ? Go back, go back, and be wise. 

CHR. Come with me, Neighbour Pliable; there are such 
things to be had which I spoke of, and many more Glories 
besides. If you believe not me, read here in this Book; 
and for the truth of what is exprest therein, behold, all is 
confirmed by the blood of Him that made it. 

PLI. Well, Neighbour Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin 
to come to a point; I intend to go along with this good 
man, and to cast in my lot with him: but, my good Com- 
panion, do you know the way to this desired place? 

CHR. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, 
to speed me to a little Gate that is before us, where we 
shall receive instruction about the way. 

PLI. Come then, good Neighbour, let us be going. 

Then they went both together. 

OBST. And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate; 
I will be no companion of such misled, fantastical fellows. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that when Obstinate was gone 
back, Christian and Pliable went talking over the Plain; 
and thus they began their discourse. 

CHR. Come, Neighbour Pliable, how do you do? I am 
glad you are persuaded to go along with me: Had even 
Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the Powers 
and Terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus lightly 
have given us the back. 

PLI. Come, Neighbour Christian, since there is none but 
us two here, tell me now further what the things are, and 
how to be enjoyed, whither we are going? 

CHR. I can better conceive of them with my Mind 
than speak of them with my Tongue: but yet, since you 
are desirous to know, I will read of them in my Book. 

PLI. And do you think that the words of your Book 
are certainly true? 

CHR. Yes, verily; for it was made by him that cannot lie. 

PLI. Well said; what things are they? 


CHR. There is an endless Kingdom to be inhabited, and 
everlasting Life to be given us, that we may inhabit that 
Kingdom for ever. 

PLI. Well said ; and what else ? 

CHR. There are Crowns of Glory to be given us, and 
Garments that will make us shine like the Sun in the firma- 
ment of Heaven. 

PLI. This is excellent ; and what else ? 

CHR. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow; for 
He that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our 

PLI. And what company shall we have there? 

CHR. There we shall be with Seraphims and Cherubins, 
creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them: 
There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thousands 
that have gone before us to that place; none of them are 
hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking in the 
sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance 
for ever. In a word, there we shall see the Elders with 
their golden Crowns, there we shall see the Holy Virgins 
with their golden Harps, there we shall see men that by 
the World were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of 
beasts, drowned in the seas, for the love that they bare to 
the Lord of the place, all well, and clothed with Immortality 
as with a garment. 

PLI. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart ; 
but are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to 
be sharers hereof? 

CHR. The Lord, the Governor of that country, hath 
recorded that in this Book; the substance of which is, If 
we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us 

PLI. Well, my good Companion, glad am I to hear of 
these things ; come on, let us mend our pace. 

CHR. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this 
Burden that is upon my back. 


Now I saw in my Dream, that just as they had ended 
this talk, they drew near to a very miry Slough, that was 
in the midst of the plain; and they being heedless did both 
fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the Slough was 
Despond. Here therefore they wallowed for a time, being 
grievously bedaubed with dirt; and Christian, because oi 
the Burden that was on his back, began to sink in the 

PLI. Then said Pliable, Ah, Neighbour Christian, where 
are you now? 

CHR. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 

PLI. At that Pliable began to be offended, and angerly 
said to his Fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me 
all this while of? If we have such ill speed at our first 
setting out, what may we expect 'twixt this and our Jour- 
ney's end? May I get out again with my life, you shall 
possess the brave Country alone for me. And with that 
he gave a desperate struggle or two, and got out of the 
Mire on that side of the Slough which was next to his own 
house: so away he went, and Christian saw him no 

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough 
of Despond alone: but still he endeavoured to struggle to 
that side of the Slough that was still further from his own 
house, and next to the Wicket-gate; the which he did, but 
could notfget out, because of the Burden that was upon 
his back: But I beheld in my Dream, that a Man came to 
him, whose name was Help, aud asked him, What he did 

CHR. Sir, said Christian, I was bid go this way by a 
Man called Evangelist; who directed me also to yonder 
Gate, that 'I might escape the wrath to come; and as I 
was going thither, I fell in here. 

HELP. But why did you not look tor the steps? 

CHR. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next 
way, and fell in. 



HELP. Then said he, Give me thy hand. So he gave 
him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon 
sound ground, and bid him go on his way. 

Then I stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, 
Sir, wherefore (since over this place is the way from the 
City of Destruction to yonder gate) is it that this Plat is 
not mended, that poor travellers might go thither with 
more security? And he said unto me, This miry Slough 
is such a place as cannot be mended; it is the descent 
whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin 
doth continually run, and therefore it is called the Slough 
of Despond; for still as the sinner is awakened about his 
lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears and 
doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them 
get together, and settle in this place : And this is the reason 
of the badness of this ground. 

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should 
remain so bad. His labourers also have, by the direction 
of His Majesty's Surveyors, been for above these sixteen 
hundred years employed about this patch of ground, if 
perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to my 
knowledge, said he, here hath been swallowed up at least 
twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of wholesome 
Instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from 
all places of the King's Dominion ; (and they that can tell 
say they are the best materials to make good ground of 
the place;) if so be it might have been mended, but it is 
the Slough of Despond still, and so will be when they have 
done what they can. 

True, there are by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain 
good and substantial Steps, placed even through the very 
midst of this Slough; but at such time as this place doth 
much spue out its filth, as it doth against change of weather, 
these steps are hardly seen; or if they be, men through 
the dizziness of their heads, step besides; and then they 
are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be 


there; but the ground is good when they are once got in 
at the Gate. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that by this time Pliable was 
got home to his House again. So his Neighbours came to 
visit him; and some of them called him wise Man for 
coming back, and some called him Fool for hazarding 
himself with Christian: others again did mock at his 
Cowardliness; saying, Surely since you began to venture, 
I would not have been so base to have given out for a 
few difficulties. So Pliable sat sneaking among them. 
But at last he got more confidence, and then they all turned 
their tales, and began to deride poor Christian behind his 
back. And thus much concerning Pliable. 

Now as Christian was walking solitary by himself, he 
espied one afar off come crossing over the field to meet 
him; and their hap was to meet just as they were crossing 
the way of each other. The Gentleman's name that met 
him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman: he dwelt in the Town of 
Carnal Policy, a very great Town, and also hard by from 
whence Christian came. This man then meeting with 
Christian, and having some inkling of him, for Christian's 
setting forth from the City of Destruction was much noised 
abroad, not only in the Town where he dwelt, but also it 
began to be the Town-talk in some other places, Master 
Worldly Wiseman therefore, having some guess of him, by 
beholding his laborious going, by observing his sighs and 
groans, and the like, began thus to enter into some talk 
with Christian. 

WORLD. How now, good fellow, whither away after this 
burdened manner? 

CHR. A burdened manner indeed, as ever I think poor 
creature had. And whereas you ask me, Whither away? 
I tell you, Sir, I am going to yonder Wicket-gate before 
me; for there, as I am informed, I shall be put into a way 
to be rid of my heavy Burden. 

WORLD. Hast thou a Wife and Children? 


CHR. Yes, but I am so laden with this Burden, that I 
cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly; methinks 
I am as if I had none. 

WORLD. Wilt thou hearken to me if I give thee counsel ? 

CHR. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good 

WORLD. I would advise thee then, that thou with all 
speed get thyself rid of thy Burden; for thou wilt never 
be settled in thy mind till then; nor canst thou enjoy the 
benefits of the blessing which God hath bestowed upon 
thee till then. 

CHR. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of 
this heavy burden; but get it off myself, I cannot; nor 
is there any man in our Country that can take it off my 
shoulders; therefore am I going this way, as I told you, 
that I may be rid of my burden. 

WORLD. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy 
Burden ? 

CHR. A man that appeared to me to be a very great 
and honourable person; his name as I remember is 

WORLD. I beshrew him for his counsel; there is not a 
more dangerous and troublesome way in the world than is 
that unto which he hath directed thee; and that thou 
shalt find, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou hast 
met with something (as I perceive) already; for I see the 
dirt of the Slough of Despond is upon thee; but that Slough 
is the beginning of the^sorrows that do attend those that 
go on in that way: Hear me, I am older than thou; thou 
art like to meet with in the way which thou goest, Weari- 
someness, Painfulness, Hunger, Perils, Nakedness, Sword, 
Lions, Dragons, Darkness, and in a word, Death, and what 
not! These things are certainly true, having been con- 
firmed by many testimonies. And why should a man 
so carelessly cast away himself, by giving heed to a 


CHR. Why, Sir, this Burden upon my back is more 
terrible to me than are all these things which you have 
mentioned; nay, methinks I care not what I meet with 
in the way, so be I can also meet with deliverance from 
my Burden. 

WORLD. How earnest thou by thy Burden at first ? 

CHR. By reading this Book in my hand. 

WORLD. I thought so; and it is happened unto thee as 
to other weak men, who meddling with things too high for 
them, do suddenly fall into thy distractions; which dis- 
tractions do not only unman men (as thine I perceive has 
done thee), but they run them upon desperate ventures, to 
obtain they know not what. 

CHR. I know what I would obtain; it is ease for my 
heavy burden. 

WORLD. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, 
seeing so many dangers attend it ? Especially, since (hadst 
thou but patience to hear me) I could direct thee to the 
obtaining of what thou desirest, without the dangers that 
thou in this way wilt run thyself into; yea, and the remedy 
is at hand. Besides, I will add, that instead of those 
dangers, thou shalt meet with much safety, friendship, 
and content. 

CHR. Pray, Sir, open this secret to me. 

WORLD. Why in yonder Village (the village is named 
Morality) there dwells a Gentleman whose name is Legality, 
a very judicious man, and a man of a very good name, that 
has skill to help men off with such burdens as thine are 
from their shoulders: yea, to my knowledge he hath done 
a great deal of good this way; ay, and besides, he hath 
skill to cure those that are somewhat crazed in their wits 
with their burdens. To him, as I said, thou mayest go, 
and be helped presently. His house is not quite a mile 
from this place, and if he should not be at home himself, 
he hath a pretty young man to his Son, whose name is 
Civility, that can do it (to speak on) as well as the old 


Gentleman himself; there, I say, thou mayest be eased of 
thy Burden; and if thou art not minded to go back to thy 
former habitation, as indeed I would not wish thee, thou 
mayest send for thy Wife and Children to thee to this 
village, where there are houses now stand empty, one of 
which thou mayest have at reasonable rates; Provision is 
there also cheap and good; and that which will make thy 
life the more happy is, to be sure, there thou shalt live 
by honest neighbours, in credit and good fashion. 

Now was Christian somewhat at a stand, but presently 
he concluded, If this be true which this Gentleman hath 
said, my wisest course is to take his advice; and with that 
he thus farther spoke. 

CHR. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's house ? 

WORLD. Do you see yonder high Hill? 

CHR. Yes, very well. 

WORLD. By that Hill you must go, and the first house 
you come at is his. 

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's 
house for help; but behold, when he was got now hard by 
the Hill, it seemed so high, and also that side of it that 
was next the wayside, did hang so much over, that Christian 
was afraid to venture further, lest the Hill should fall on 
his head; wherefore there he stood still, and he wot not 
what to do. Also his Burden now seemed heavier to him 
than while he was in his way. There came also flashes of 
fire out of the Hill, that made Christian afraid that he 
should be burned. Here therefore he sweat and did quake 
for fear. And now he began to be sorry that he had taken 
Mr. Worldly Wiseman's counsel. And with that he saw 
Evangelist coming to meet him ; at the sight also of whom 
he began to blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer 
and nearer; and coming up to him, he looked upon him 
with a severe and dreadful countenance, and thus began 
to reason with Christian. 

EVAN. What doest thou here, Christian? said he: at 

instian on His way to Eecrahtys house., 
f B J 


which words Christian knew not what to answer; wherefore 
at present he stood speechless before him. Then said 
Evangelist further, Art not thou the man that I found 
crying without the walls of the City of Destruction ? 

CHR. Yes, dear Sir, I am the man. 

EVAN. Did not I direct thee the way to the little Wicket- 

CHR. Yes, dear Sir, said Christian. 

EVAN. How is it then that thou art so quickly turned 
aside ? for thou art now out of the way. 

CHR. I met with a Gentleman so soon as I had got over 
the Slough of Dispond, who persuaded me that I might, 
in the village before me, find a man that could take off 
my Burden. 

EVAN. What was he ? 

CHR. He looked like a Gentleman, and talked much to 
me, and got me at last to yield; so I came hither: but 
when I beheld this Hill, and how it hangs over the way, I 
suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my head. 

EVAN. What said that Gentleman to you? 

CHR. Why, he asked whither I was going; and I told 

EVAN. And what said he then? 

CHR. He asked me if I had a family; and I told him. 
But, said I, I am so loaden with the Burden that is on my 
back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly. 

EVAN. And what said he then? 

CHR. He bid me with speed get rid of my Burden; and 
I told him 'twas ease that I sought. And, said I, I am 
therefore going to yonder Gate, to receive further direction 
how I may get to the place of deliverance. So he said that 
he would shew me a better way, and short, not so attended 
with difficulties as the way, Sir, that you set me; which 
way, said he, will direct you to a Gentleman's house that 
hath skill to take off these Burdens: So I believed him, 
and turned out of that way into this, if haply I might be 


soon eased of my Burden. But when I came to this place, 
and beheld things as they are, 1 stopped for fear (as I said) 
of danger : but I now know not what to do. 

EVAN. Then, said Evangelist, stand still a little, that 
I may shew thee the words of God. 

So he stood trembling. 

Then said Evangelist, See that ye refuse not him that 
speaketh; for if they escaped not who refused him that 
spake on Earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn 
away from him that speaketh from Heaven. He said 
moreover, Now the just shall live by faith: but if any man 
draws back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him. He 
also did thus apply them, Thou art the man that art running 
into this misery, thou hast begun to reject the counsel of 
the Most High, and to draw back thy foot from the way 
of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy perdition. 

Then Christian fell down at his foot as dead, crying, 
Woe is me, for I am undone : At the sight of which, Evange- 
list caught him by the right hand, saying, All manner of 
sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men; be not 
faithless, but believing. Then did Christian again a little 
revive, and stood up trembling, as at first before Evangelist. 

When Christians unto Carnal Men give ear, 
Out of their way they go, and pay for't dear; 
For Master Worldly Wiseman can but shew. . 
A Saint the way to Bondage and to Woe. 

Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earnest 
heed to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now shew 
thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also to 
whom he sent thee. The man that met thee is one Worldly 
Wiseman, and rightly is he so called: partly because he 
savoureth only the doctrine of this world (therefore he 
always goes to the Town of Morality to church) ; and partly 
because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him from 
the Cross. And because he is of this carnal temper, there- 
fore he seeketh to prevent my ways, though right. Now 


there are three things in this man's counsel that thou must 
utterly abhor. 

1. His turning thee out of the way. 

2. His labouring to render the Cross odious to thee. 

3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth 
unto the administration of Death. 

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way; 
yea, and thine own consenting thereto: because this is to 
reject the counsel of God for the sake of the counsel of a 
Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says, Strive to enter in at 
the strait gate, the gate to which I sent thee; for strait is 
the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. 
From this little Wicket gate, and from the way thereto, hath 
this wicked man turned thee, to the bringing of thee almost 
to destruction; hate therefore his turning thee out of the 
way, and abhor thyself for hearkening to him. 

Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the 
Cross odious unto thee ; for thou art to prefer it before the 
treasures of Egypt. Besides, the King of glory hath told 
thee, that he that will save his life shall lose it : and He that 
comes after him, and hates not his father, and mother, and 
wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea and his 
own life also, he cannot be my Disciple. I say therefore, 
for a man to labour to persuade thee, that that shall be 
thy death, without which, the Truth hath said, thou canst 
not have eternal life ; This doctrine thou must abhor. 

Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the 
way that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for 
this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, and also 
how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy Burden. 

He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name 
Legality, is the Son of the Bond woman which now is, and 
is in bondage with her children; and is in a mystery this 
Mount Sinai, which thou hast feared will fall on thy head. 
Now if she with her children are in bondage, how canst 
thou expect by them to be made free? This Legality 


therefore is not able to set thee free from thy Burden. 
No man was as yet ever rid of his Burden by him; no, 
nor ever is like to be: ye cannot be justified by the Works 
of the Law; for by the deeds of the Law no man living can 
be rid of his Burden: therefore, Mr. Worldly Wiseman is 
an alien, and Mr. Legality a cheat; and for his son Civility, 
notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite 
and cannot help thee. Believe me, there is nothing in all 
this noise, that thou hast heard of this sottish man, but 
a design to beguile thee of thy Salvation, by turning thee 
from the way in which I had set thee. After this Evangelist 
called aloud to the Heavens for confirmation of what he 
had said; and with that there came words and fire out of 
the Mountain under which poor Christian stood, that made 
the hair of his flesh stand. The words were thus pro- 
nounced, As many as are of the works of the Law are under 
the curse; for it is written, Cursed is every one that con- 
tinueth not in all things which are written in the Book of 
the Law to do them. 

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began 
to cry out lamentably, even cursing the time in which he 
met with Mr. Worldly Wiseman, still calling himself a 
thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel: he also was 
greatly ashamed to think that this Gentleman's arguments, 
flowing only from the flesh, should have that prevalency 
with him as to cause him to forsake the right way. This 
done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and 
sense as follows. 

CHR. Sir, what think you! Is there hopes? May I 
now go back and go up to the Wicket-gate? Shall I not 
be abandoned for this, and sent back from thence ashamed? 
I am sorry I have hearkened to this man's counsel: But 
may my sin be forgiven ? 

EVAN. Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very 
great, for by it thou hast committed two evils: thou hast 
forsaken the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths; 


yet will the man at the Gate receive thee, for he has good 
will for men; only, said he, take heed that thou turn not 
aside again, lest thou perish from the way, when his wrath 
is kindled but a little. Then did Christian address himself 
to go back; and Evangelist, after he had kissed him, gave 
him one smile, and bid him God-speed. So he went on with 
haste, neither spake he to any man by the way; nor if any 
man asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He 
went like one that was all the while treading on forbidden 
ground, and could by no means think himself safe, till again 
he was got into the way which he left to follow Mr. Worldly 
Wiseman's counsel. So in process of time Christian got 
up to the Gate. Now over the Gate there was written, 
Knock and it shall be opened unto you. He knocked, 
therefore, more than once or twice, saying, 

May I now enter here ? Will he within 
Open to sorry me, though I have been 
An undeserving Rebel ? Then shall I 
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high. 

At last there came a grave person to the gate named 
Good-will, who asked Who was there? and whence he 
came ? and what he would have ? 

CHR. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from 
the City of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, that 
I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I would 
therefore, Sir, since I am informed that by this Gate is the 
way thither, know if you are willing to let me in. 

GOOD-WILL. I am willing with all my heart, said he; 
and with that he opened the Gate. 

He that will enter in must first without 
Stand knocking at the Gate, nor need he doubt 
That is a knocker, but to enter in, 
For God can love him, and forgive his sin. 

So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave him 
a puU. Then said Christian, What means that ? The other 
told him, A little distance from this Gate, there is erected 


a strong Castle, of which Beelzebub is the Captain; from 
thence both he and they that are with him shoot arrows 
at those that come up to this Gate, if haply they may die 
before they can enter in. Then said Christian, I rejoice 
and tremble. So when he was got in, the man of the Gate 
asked him who directed him tliither? 

CHR. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock (as I 
did) ; and he said that you, Sir, would tell me what I must 

GOOD-WILL. An open door is set before thee, and no 
man can shut it. 

CHR. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards. 

GOOD -WILL. But how is it that you came alone? 

CHR. Because none of my Neighbours saw their danger, 
as I saw mine. 

GOOD- WILL. Did any of them know of your coming? 

CHR. Yes, my Wife and Children saw me at the first, 
and called after me to turn again; also some of my neigh- 
bours stood crying and calling after me to return; but I 
put my fingers in my ears, and so came on my way. 

GOOD-WILL. But did none of them follow you, to per- 
suade you to go back? 

CHR. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable; but when they 
saw that they could not prevail, Obstinate went railing back, 
but Pliable came with me a little way. 

GOOD- WILL. But why did he not come through? 

CHR. We indeed came both together, until we came at 
the Slough of Despond, into the which we also suddenly 
fell. And then was my Neighbour Pliable discouraged, 
and would not adventure farther. Wherefore getting out 
again on that side next to his own house, he told me I 
should possess the brave country alone for him; so he went 
on his way, and I came mine: he after Obstinate, and I 
to this Gate. 

GOOD-WILL. Then said Good-will, Alas, poor man, is 
the celestial glory of so small esteem with him, that he 


counteth it not worth running the hazards of a few diffi- 
culties to obtain it? 

CHR. Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of 
Pliable, and if I should also say all the truth of myself, it 
will appear there is no betterment 'twixt him and myself. 
Tis true, he went back to his own house, but I also turned 
aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto by 
the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman. 

GOOD-WILL. Oh, did he light upon you? What! he 
would have had you seek for ease at the hands of Mr. 
Legality. They are both of them a very cheat: But did 
you take his counsel? 

CHR. Yes, as far as I durst: I went to find out Mr. 
Legality, until I thought that the Mountain that stands 
by his house would have fallen upon my head; wherefore 
there I was forced to stop. 

GOOD-WILL. That Mountain has been the death of many, 
and will be the death of many more ; 'tis well you escaped 
being by it dashed in pieces. 

CHR. Why truly I do not know what had become of 
me there, had not Evangelist happily met me again, as I 
was musing* in the midst of my dumps: bat 'twas God's 
mercy that he came to me again, for else I had never come 
hither. But now I am come, such a one as I am, more fit 
indeed for death by that Mountain than thus to stand 
talking with my Lord; but Oh, what a favour is this to me, 
that yet I am admitted entrance here. 

GOOD- WILL. We make no objections against any; not- 
withstanding all that they have done before they come 
hither, they in no wise are cast out; and therefore, good 
Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee 
about the way thou must go. Look before thee ; dost thou 
see this narrow way ? THAT is the way thou must go : it 
was cast up by the Patriarchs, Prophets, Christ, and his 
Apostles; and it is as straight as a rule can make it: This 
is the way thou must go. 


CHR. But said Christian, Are there no turnings nor 
windings, by which a Stranger may lose the way? 

GOOD-WILL. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon 
this, and they are crooked and wide : But thus thou mayest 
distinguish the right from the wrong, That only being 
straight and narrow. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that Christian asked him 
further if he could not help him off with his Burden that 
was upon his back; for as yet he had not got rid thereof, 
nor could he by any means get it off without help. 

He told him, As to thy Burden, be content to bear it, 
until thou comest to the place of Deliverance; for there it 
will fall from thy back itself. 

Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address 
himself to his Journey. So the other told him, That by 
that he was gone some distance from the Gate, he would 
come at the house of the Interpreter, at whose door he 
should knock; and he would shew him excellent things. 
Then Christian took his leave of his Friend, and he again 
bid him God-speed. 

Then he went on till he came at the house of the Inter- 
preter, where he knocked over and over; at last one came 
to the door, and asked Who was there? 

CHR. Sir, here is a Traveller, who was bid by an ac- 
quaintance of the good-man of this house to call here for 
my profit; I would therefore speak with the Master of the 
house. So he called for the Master of the house, who after 
a little time came to Christian, and asked him what he 
would have? 

CHR. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am come 
from the City of Destruction, and am going to the Mount 
Zion; and I was told by the Man that stands at the Gate, 
at the head of this way, that if I called here, you would 
shew me excellent things, such as would be a help to me 
in my Journey. 

INTER. Then said the Interpreter, Come in, I will shew 


thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com- 
manded his man to light the Candle, and bid Christian 
follow him: so he had him into a private room, and bid 
his man open a door; the which when he had done, Christian 
saw a Picture of a very grave Person hang up against the 
wall; and this was the fashion of it. It had eyes lifted up 
to Heaven, the best of Books in his hand, the Law of Truth 
was written upon his lips, the World was behind his back. 
It stood as if it pleaded with men, and a Crown of Gold 
did hang over his head. 

CHR. Then said Christian, What means this? 

INTER. The Man whose Picture this is, is one of a 
thousand; he can beget children, travail in birth with 
children, and nurse them himself when they are born. 
And whereas thou seest him with his eyes lift up to Heaven, 
the best of Books in his hand, and the Law of Truth writ 
on his lips, it is to shew thee that his work is to know and 
unfold dark things to sinners; even as also thou seest him 
stand as if he pleaded with men; and whereas thou seest 
the World as cast behind him, and that a Crown hangs 
over his head, that is to shew thee that slighting and de- 
spising things that are present, for the love that he hath 
to his Master's service, he is sure in the world that comes 
next to have Glory for his reward. Now, said the Inter- 
preter, I have shewed thee this Picture first, because the 
Man whose Picture this is, is the only man whom the Lord 
of the place whither thou art going hath authorised to be 
thy guide in all difficult places thou mayest meet with in 
the way; wherefore take good heed to what I have shewed 
thee, and bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest 
in thy Journey thou meet with some that pretend to lead 
thee right, but their way goes down to death. 

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a very 
large Parlour that was full of dust, because never swept; 
the which after he had reviewed a little while, the Inter- 
preter called for a man to sweep. Now when he began to 


sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly about, that 
Christian had almost therewith been choked. Then said 
the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by, Bring hither 
the Water, and sprinkle the Room; the which when she 
had done, it was swept and cleansed with pleasure. 

CHR. Then said Christian, What means this? 

INTER. The Interpreter answered, This parlour is the 
heart of a man that was never sanctified by the sweet Grace 
of the Gospel: the dust is his Original Sin and inward 
Corruptions, that have defiled the whole man. He that 
began to sweep at first is the Law; but she that brought 
water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now, whereas 
thou sawest that so soon as the first began to sweep, the 
dust did so fly about that the Room by him could not be 
cleansed, but that thou wast almost choked therewith; 
this is to shew thee, that the Law, instead of cleansing the 
heart (by itsVorking) from sin, doth revive, put strength 
into, and increase it in the soul, even as it doth discover 
and forbid it, for it doth not give power to subdue. 

Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the room 
with Water, upon which it was cleansed with pleasure; 
this is to shew thee, that when the Gospel comes in the 
sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, then I 
say, even as thou sawest the Damsel lay the dust by sprink- 
ling the floor with Water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, 
and the soul made clean, through the faith of it, and con- 
sequently fit for the King of Glory to inhabit. 
t I saw moreover in my Dream, that the Interpreter took 
him by the hand, and had him into a little room, where 
sat 'two little Children, each one in his chair. The name 
of the eldest was Passion, and the name of the other 
Patience. Passion seemed to be much discontent; but 
Patience was very quiet. The Christian asked, What is 
the reason of the discontent of Passion? The Interpreter 
answered, The Governor of them would have him stay for 


his best things till the beginning of the next year; but he 
will have all now; but Patience is willing to wait. 

Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought him 
a bag of Treasure, and poured it down at his feet, the 
which he took up and rejoiced therein; and withal, laughed 
Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, and he had 
lavished all away, and had nothing left him but Rags. 

CHR. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound 
this matter more fully to me. 

INTER. So he said, These two Lads are figures: Passion, 
of the men of this world ; and Patience, of the men of that 
which is to come; for as here thou seest, Passion will have 
all now this year, that is to say, in this world; so are the 
men of this world: they must have all their good things 
now, they cannot stay till next year, that is, until the 
next world, for their portion of good. That proverb, A 
Bird in the Hand is worth two in the Bush, is of more 
authority with them than are all the Divine testimonies of 
the good of the world to come. But as thou sawest that 
he had quickly lavished all away, and had presently left 
him nothing but Rags; so will it be with all such men at 
the end of this world. 

CHR. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience has 
the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts, i. Because 
he stays for the best things. 2. And also because he will 
have the Glory of his, when the other has nothing but Rags. 

INTER. Nay, you may add another; to wit, The glory 
of the next world will never wear out ; but these are suddenly 
gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason to laugh 
at Patience, because he had his good things first, as Patience 
will have to laugh at Passion, because he had his best 
things last; for first must give place to last, because last 
must have his time to come : but last gives place to nothing; 
for there is not another to succeed. He, therefore, that 
hath his portion first must needs have a time to spend it; 
but he that hath his portion last must have it lastingly. 


Therefore it is said of Dives, In thy lifetime thou receivedst 
thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things ; but now 
he is comforted, and thou art tormented. 

CHR. Then I perceive 'tis not best to covet things that 
are now, but to wait for things to come. 

INTER. You say truth: For the things that are seen 
are Temporal; but the things that are not seen are Eternal. 
But though this be so, yet since things present and our 
fleshly appetite are such near neighbours one to another; 
and, again, because things to come and carnal sense are 
such strangers one to another: therefore it is, that the 
first of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance 
is so continued between the second. 

Then I saw in my Dream that the Interpreter took 
Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where was 
a Fire burning against a wall, and one standing by it alway 
casting much Water upon it to quench it; yet did the Fire 
burn higher and hotter. 

Then said Christian, What means this? 

The Interpreter answered, This Fire is the work of 
Grace that is wrought in the heart; he that casts Water 
upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the Devil; but in 
that thou seest the Fire notwithstanding burn higher and 
hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So he had 
him about to the backside of the wall, where he saw a man 
with a Vessel of Oil in his hand, of the which he did also 
continually cast (but secretly) into the Fire. 

Then said Christian, What means this? 

The Interpreter answered, This is Christ, who con- 
tinually, with the Oil of his Grace, maintains the work 
already begun in the heart: by the means of which, not- 
withstanding what the Devil can do, the souls of his people 
prove gracious still. And in that thou sawest that the 
man stood behind the wall to maintain the Fire, that is to 
teach thee that it is hard for the tempted to see how. this 
work of Grace is maintained in the soul. 


I saw also that the Interpreter took him again by the 
hand, and led him into a pleasant place, where was builded 
a stately Palace, beautiful to behold; at the sight of which 
Christian was greatly delighted: He saw also upon the top 
thereof, certain persons walking, who were clothed all in 

Then said Christian, May we go in thither? 

Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up toward 
the door of the Palace; and behold, at the door stood a 
great company of men, as desirous to go in, but durst not. 
There also sat a man at a little distance from the door, at 
a table-side, with a Book and his Inkhorn before him, to 
take the name of him that should enter therein: He saw 
also, that in the door-way stood many men in armour to 
keep it, being resolved to do the Man that would enter what 
hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian some- 
what in a muse. At last, when every man started back 
for fear of the armed men, Christian saw a man of a very 
stout countenance come up to the man that sat there to 
write, saying, Set down my name, Sir: the which when he 
had done, he saw the man draw his Sword, and put an 
Helmet upon his head, and rush toward the door upon the 
armed men, who laid upon him with deadly force; but 
the man, not at all discouraged, fell to cutting and hacking 
most fiercely. So, after he had received and given many 
wounds to those that attempted to keep him out, he cut 
his way through them all, and pressed forward into the 
Palace; at which there was a pleasant voice heard from 
those that were within, even of the Three that walked 
upon the top of the Palace. 

Come in, Come in; 

Eternal Glory thou shalt win. 

So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as 
they. Then Christian smiled, and said, I think verily I 
know the meaning of this. 


Now, said Christian, let me go hence. Nay stay, said 
the Interpreter, till I have shewed thee a little more, and 
after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him by 
the hand again, and led him into a very dark room, where 
there sat a Man in an Iron Cage. 

Now the Man, to look on, seemed very sad; he sat with 
his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands folded 
together; and he sighed as if he would break his heart. 
Then said Christian, What means this? At which the 
Interpreter bid him talk with the Man. 

Then said Christian to the Man, What art thou? The 
Man answered, I am what I was not once. 

CHR. What wast thou once? 

MAN. The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing 
Professor, both in mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of 
others; I once was, as I thought, fair for the Celestial City, 
and had then even joy at the thoughts that I should get 

CHR. Well, but what art thou now ? 

MAN. I am now a man of Despair, and am shut up in it, 
as in this Iron Cage. I cannot get out ; Oh now I cannot. 

CHR. But how earnest thou in this condition ? 

MAN. I left off to watch and be sober; I laid the reins 
upon the neck of my lusts; I sinned against the light of 
the Word and the goodness of God; I have grieved the 
Spirit, and he is gone; I tempted the Devil, and he is come 
to me; I have provoked God to anger, and he has left me; 
I have so hardened my heart, that I cannot repent. 

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But are there no 
hopes for such a man as this ? Ask him, said the Interpreter. 

CHR. Nay, said Christian, pray Sir, do you. 

INTER. Then said the Interpreter, Is there no hope, 
but you must be kept in the Iron Cage of Despair ? 

MAN. No, none at all. 

INTER. Why? the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful. 

MAN. I have crucified him to myself afresh, I have 


despised his Person, I have despised his Righteousness, I 
have counted his Blood an unholy thing, I have done 
despite to the Spirit of Grace : Therefore I have shut my- 
self out of all the Promises, and there now remains to me 
nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings, fearful 
threatenings of certain Judgment, which shall devour me 
as an Adversary. 

INTER. For what did you bring yourself into this 
condition ? 

MAN. For the Lusts, Pleasures, and Profits of this 
World; in the enjoyment of which I did then promise 
myself much delight; but now even every one of those 
things also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning worm. 

INTER. But canst thou not now repent and turn ? 

MAN. God hath denied me repentance: his Word gives 
me no encouragement to believe; yea, himself hath shut 
me up in this Iron Cage; nor can all the men in the world 
let me out. O Eternity! Eternity! how shall I grapple 
with the misery that I must meet with in Eternity ! 

INTER. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this 
man's misery be remembered by thee, and be an everlasting 
caution to thee. 

CHR. Well, said Christian, this is fearful; God help me 
to watch and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the 
causes of this man's misery. Sir, is it not time for me to 
go on my way now? 

INTER. Tarry till I shall shew thee one thing more, and 
then thou shalt go on thy way. 

So he took Christian by the hand again, and led him 
into a Chamber, where there was one rising out of bed ; and as 
he put on his raiment, he shook and trembled. Then said 
Christian, Why doth this man thus tremble? The Inter- 
preter then bid him tell to Christian the reason of his so 
doing. So he began and said: This night, as I was in my 
sleep, I dreamed, and behold the Heavens grew exceeding 
black ; also it thundered and lightened in most fearful wise, 


that it put me into an agony. So I looked up in my Dream, 
and saw the Clouds rack at an unusual rate, upon which 
I heard a great sound of a Trumpet, and saw also a Man 
sit upon a Cloud, attended with the thousands of Heaven; 
they were all in flaming fire, also the Heavens were in a 
burning flame. I heard then a Voice saying, Arise ye Dead, 
and come to Judgment ; and with that the Rocks rent, the 
Graves opened, and the Dead that were therein came forth. 
Some of them were exceeding glad, and looked upward; 
and some sought to hide themselves under the Mountains. 
Then I saw the Man that sat upon the Cloud open the Book, 
and bid the World draw near. Yet there was, by reason 
of a fiery flame that issued out and came from before him, a 
convenient distance betwixt him and them, as betwixt the 
Judge and the Prisoners at the bar. I heard it also pro- 
claimed to them that attended on the Man that sat on the 
Cloud, Gather together the Tares, the Chaff, and Stubble, 
and cast them into the burning Lake. And with that, 
the bottomless pit opened, just whereabout I stood; out 
of the mouth of which there came in an abundant manner 
smoke and coals of fire, with hideous noises. It was also 
said to the same persons, Gather my Wheat into my Garner. 
And with that I saw many catch' d up and carried away 
into the Clouds, but I was left behind. I also sought to 
hide myself, but I could not, for the Man that sat upon the 
Cloud still kept his eye upon me: my sins also came into 
mind, and my Conscience did accuse me on every side. 
Upon this I awaked from my sleep. 

CHR. But what was it that made you so afraid of this sight ? 

MAN. Why, I thought that the day of Judgment was 
come, and that I was not ready for it: but this frighted 
me most, that the Angels gathered up several, and left me 
behind; also the pit of Hell opened her mouth just where I 
stood: my Conscience too within afflicted me; and as I 
thought, the Judge had always his eye upon me, shewing 
indignation in his countenance. 



Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Hast them 
considered all these things ? 

CHR. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear. 

INTER. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they 
may be as a Goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in the 
way thou must go. Then Christian began to gird up his 
loins, and to address himself to his Journey. Then said 
the Interpreter, The Comforter be always with thee, good 
Christian, to guide thee in the way that leads to the City. 

So Christian went on his way, saying, 

Here I have seen things rare and profitable; 
Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable 
In what I have begun to take in hand: 
Then let me think on them, and understand 
Wherefore they shewed me were, and let me be 
Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee. 

Now I saw in my Dream that the highway up which 
Christian was to go was fenced on either side with a Wall, 
and that Wall is called Salvation. Up this way therefore 
did burdened Christian run, but not without great difficulty, 
because of the load on his back. 

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending, 
and upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below in 
the bottom, a Sepulchre. So I saw in my Dream, that just 
as Christian came up with the Cross, his Burden loosed 
from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back, and began 
to tumble, and so continued to do, till it came to the mouth 
of the Sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw it no more. 

Who's this? the Pilgrim. How! 'tis very true, 
Old things are past away, all's become new. 
Strange ! he's another man, upon my word, 
They be fine Feathers that make a fine Bird. 

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with 
a merry heart, He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and 
life by his death. Then he stood still awhile to look and 
wonder; for it was very surprising to him, that the sight 
of the Cross should thus ease him of his Burden. He 


looked therefore, and looked again, even till the springs 
that were in his head sent the waters down his cheeks. 
Now as he stood looking and weeping, behold three Shining 
Ones came to him and saluted him with Peace be to thee; 
so the first said to him, Thy sins be forgiven: the second 
stript him of his Rags, and clothed him with Change of 
Raiment; the third also set a mark in his forehead, and 
gave him a Roll with a Seal upon it, which he bid him look 
on as he ran, and that he should give it in at the Celestial 
Gate. So they went their way. Then Christian gave 
three leaps for joy, and went out singing, 

Thus far did I come laden with my sin; 
Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in 
Till I came hither : What a place is this ! 
Must here be the beginning of my bliss ? 
Must here the Burden fall from off my back ? 
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack ? 
Blest Cross ! blest Sepulchre ! blest rather be 
The Man that there was put to shame for me. 

I saw then in my Dream that he went on thus, even 
until he came at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of 
the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon their 
heels. The name of the one was Simple, another Sloth, and 
the third Presumption. 

Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to them, 
if peradventure he might awake them, and cried, You are 
like them that sleep on the top of a mast, for the Dead 
Sea is under you, a gulf that hath no bottom. Awake 
therefore and come away; be willing also, and I will help 
you off with your Irons. He also told them, If he that 
goeth about like a roaring lion comes by, you will certainly 
become a prey to his teeth. With that they looked upon 
him, and began to reply in this sort: Simple said, I see 
no danger; Sloth said, Yet a little more sleep; and Pre- 
sumption said, Every Fat must stand upon his own bottom. 
And so they lay down to sleep again, and Christian went 
on his way. 


Yet was he troubled to think that men in that danger 
should so little esteem the kindness of him that so freely 
offered to help them, both by awakening of them, coun- 
selling of them, and proffering to help them off with their 
Irons. And as he was troubled thereabout, he espied two 
men come tumbling over the Wall, on the left hand of the 
narrow way; and they made up a pace to him. The name 
of the one was Formalist, and the name of the other 
Hypocrisy. So, as I said, they drew up unto him, who 
thus entered with them into discourse. 

CHR. Gentlemen, Whence came you, and whither do 
you go ? 

FORM, and HYP. We were born in the land of Vain-glory, 
and are going for praise to Mount Zion. 

CHR. Why came you not in at the Gate which standeth 
at the beginning of the way? Know you not that it is 
written, That he that cometh not in by the Door, but 
climbeth up some other way, the same is a Thief and a 

FORM, and HYP. They said, That to go to the Gate for 
entrance was by all their countrymen counted too far 
about; and that therefore their usual way was to make a 
short cut of it, and to climb over, as they had done. 

CHR. But will it not be counted a Trespass against the 
Lord of the City whither we are bound, thus to violate his 
revealed will? 

FORM, and HYP. They told him, That as for that, he 
needed not to trouble his head thereabout; for what they 
did they had custom for; and could produce, if need were, 
Testimony that would witness it for more than a thousand 

CHR. But, said Christian, will your practice stand a 
Trial at Law? 

FORM, and HYP. They told him, That custom, it being of 
so long a standing as above a thousand years, would doubt- 
less now be admitted as a thing legal by any impartial 


Judge; and besides, said they, so be we get into the way, 
what's matter which way we get in? if we are in, we are 
in; thou art but in the way, who, as we perceive, came in 
at the Gate ; and we are also in the way, that came tumbling 
over the wall: wherein now is thy condition better than 

CHR. I walk by the Rule of my Master, you walk by 
the rude working of your fancies. You are counted thieves 
already by the Lord of the way; therefore I doubt you 
will not be found true men at the end of the way. You 
come in by yourselves without his direction, and shall go 
out by yourselves without his mercy. 

To this they made him but little answer; only they bid 
him look to himself. Then I saw that they went on every 
man in his way, without much conference one with another; 
save that these two men told Christian, that as to Laws 
and Ordinances, they doubted not but they should as 
conscientiously do them as he. Therefore, said they, we 
see not wherein thou differest from us, but by the Coat 
that is on thy back, which was, as we tro, given thee by 
some of thy Neighbours, to hide the shame of thy nakedness. 

CHR. By Laws and Ordinances you will not be saved, 
since you came not in by the door. And as for this Coat 
that is on my back, it was given me by the Lord of the 
place whither I go; and that, as you say, to cover my 
nakedness with. And I take it as a token of his kindness 
to me, for I had nothing but rags before. And, besides, 
thus I comfort myself as I go: Surely, think I, when I 
come to the gate of the City, the Lord thereof will know 
me for good, since I have his Coat on my back; a Coat 
that he gave me freely in the day that he stript me of my 
rags. I have moreover a Mark in my forehead, of which 
perhaps you have taken no notice, which one of my Lord's 
most intimate associates fixed there in the day that my 
Burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, moreover, 
that I had then given me a Roll sealed, to comfort me by 


reading as I go in the way; I was also bid to give it in at 
the Celestial Gate, in token of my certain going in after it; 
all which things I doubt you want, and want them because 
you came not in at the Gate. 

To these things they gave him no answer; only they 
looked upon each other and laughed. Then I saw that 
they went on all, save that Christian kept before, who had 
no more talk but with himself, and that sometimes sigh- 
ingly, and sometimes comfortably; also he would be often 
reading in the Roll that one of the Shining Ones gave him, 
by which he was refreshed. 

I beheld, then, that they all went on till they came to 
the foot of an Hill, at the bottom of which was a Spring. 
There was also in the same place two other ways besides 
that which came straight from the Gate; one turned to 
the left hand, and the other to the right, at the bottom of 
the Hill; but the narrow way lay right up the Hill, and 
the name of the going up the side of the Hill is called 
Difficulty. Christian now went to the Spring, and drank 
thereof to refresh himself, and then began to go up the Hill, 

This Hill, though high, I covet to ascend; 

The difficulty will not me offend ; 

For I perceive the way to life lies here : 

Come, pluck up, Heart, let's neither faint nor fear; 

Better, though difficult, the right way to go, 

Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe. .- 

The other two also came to the foot of the Hill; but 
when they saw that the Hill was steep and high, and that 
there were two other ways to go ; and supposing also that 
these two ways might meet again with that up which 
Christian went, on the other side of the Hill; therefore 
they were resolved to go in those ways. Now the name of 
one of those ways was Danger, and the name of the other 
Destruction. So the one took the way which is called 
Danger, which led him into a great Wood; and the other 
took directly up the way to Destruction, which led him 


into a wide field, full of dark Mountains, where he stumbled 
and fell, and rose no more. 

Shall they who wrong begin yet rightly end ? 
Shall they at all have Safety for their friend ? 
No, no; in headstrong manner they set out, 
And headlong they will fall at last no doubt. 

I looked then after Christian to see him go up the Hill, 
where I perceived he fell from running to going, and from 
going to clambering upon his hands and his knees, because 
of the steepness of the place. Now about the mid-way to 
the top of the Hill was a pleasant Arbour, made by the 
Lord of the Hill for the refreshment of weary travellers; 
thither therefore Christian got, where also he sat down to 
rest him. Then he pulled his Roll out of his bosom, and 
read therein to his comfort; he also now began afresh to 
take a review of the Coat, or Garment, that was given him 
as he stood by the Cross. Thus pleasing himself awhile 
he at last fell into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, 
which detained him in that place until it was almost night ; 
and in his sleep his Roll fell out of his hand. Now as he 
was sle'eping, there came one to him and awaked him, 
saying, Go to the Ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways 
and be wise. And with that Christian suddenly started up, 
and sped him on his way, and went apace till he came to 
the top of the Hill. 

Now when he was got up to the top of the Hill, there 
came two men running against him amain; the name of 
the one was Timorous, and the name of the other Mistrust. 
To whom Christian said, Sirs, what's the matter you run 
the wrong way? Timorous answered, that they were 
going to the City of Zion, and had got up that difficult 
place; but, said he, the further we go, the more danger 
we meet with ; wherefore we turned, and are going back 

Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of 
Lions in the way, whether sleeping or waking we know not, 


and we could not think, if we came within reach, but they 
would presently pull us in pieces. 

CHR. Then said Christian, You make me afraid, but 
whither shall I fly to be safe? If I go back to mine own 
country, that is prepared for Fire and Brimstone; and I 
shall certainly perish there. If I can get to the Celestial 
City, I am sure to be in safety there. I must venture: 
To go back is nothing but death; to go forward is fear of 
death, and life everlasting beyond it. I will yet go forward. 
So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the Hill, and Christian 
went on his way. But thinking again of what he heard 
from the men, he felt in his bosom for his Roll, that he 
might read therein and be comforted; but he felt, and 
found it not. Then was Christian in great distress, and 
knew not what to do, for he wanted that which used to 
relieve him, and that which should have been his pass into 
the Celestial City. Here therefore he began to be much 
perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought 
himself that he had slept in the Arbour that is on the side 
of the Hill; and falling down upon his knees, he asked 
God's forgiveness for that his foolish fact, and then went 
back to look for his Roll. But all the way he went back, 
who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of Christian's 
heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept, and 
oftentimes he chid himself, for being so foolish to fall asleep 
in that place, which was erected only for a little refresh- 
ment from his weariness. Thus therefore he went back, 
carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way as 
he went, if happily he might find his Roll, that had been 
his comfort so many times in his Journey. He went thus 
till he came again within sight of the Arbour where he sat 
and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow the more, by 
bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping into his 
mind. Thus therefore he now went on bewailing his sinful 
sleep, saying, O wretched man that I am, that I should 
sleep in the daytime! that I should sleep in the midst of 


difficulty ! that I should so indulge the flesh, as to use that 
rest for ease to my flesh, which the Lord of the Hill had 
erected only for the relief of the spirits of Pilgrims! How 
many steps have I took in vain! (Thus it happened to 
Israel for their sin, they were sent back again by the way 
of the Red Sea) and I am made to tread those steps with 
sorrow, which I might have trod with delight, had it not 
been for this sinful sleep. How far might I have been 
on my way by this time ! I am made to tread those steps 
thrice over, which I needed not to have trod but once; 
yea, now also I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost 
spent. Oh that I had not slept! 

Now by this time he was come to the Arbour again, 
where for a while he sat down and wept; but at last, as 
Christian would have it, looking sorrowfully down under 
the settle, there he espied his Roll; the which he with 
trembling and haste catched up, and put it into his bosom. 
But who can tell how joyful this man was when he had 
gotten his Roll again! for this Roll was the assurance of 
his life and acceptance at the desired Haven. Therefore he 
laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for directing his 
eye to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears betook 
himself again to his Journey. But Oh how nimbly now 
did he go up the rest of the Hill! Yet before he got up, 
the Sun went down upon Christian; and this made him 
again recall the vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance; 
and thus he again began to condole with himself: Ah! thou 
sinful sleep: how for thy sake am I like to be benighted 
in my Journey! I must walk without the Sun, darkness 
must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the noise 
of doleful creatures, because of my sinful sleep. Now also 
he remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told 
him of, how they were frighted with the sight of the Lions. 
Then said Christian to himself again, These beasts range 
in the night for their prey; and if they should meet with 
me in the dark, how should I shift them? How should I 


escape being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on 
his way. But while he was thus bewailing his unhappy 
miscarriage, he lift up his eyes, and behold there was a very 
stately Palace before him, the name whereof was Beautiful; 
and it stood just by the High- way side. 

So I saw in my Dream that he made haste and went 
forward, that if possible he might get Lodging there. Now 
before he had gone far, he entered into a very narrow 
passage, which was about a furlong off of the Porter's lodge ; 
and looking very narrowly before him as he went, he espied 
two Lions in the way. Now, thought he, I see the dangers 
that Mistrust and Timorous were driven back by. (The 
Lions were chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he 
was afraid, and thought also himself to go back after them, 
for he thought nothing but death was before him : But the 
Porter at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, perceiving 
that Christian made a halt as if he would go back, cried 
unto him, saying, Is thy strength so small? Fear not the 
Lions, for they are chained, and are placed there for trial 
of faith where it is, and for discovery of those that have 
none. Keep in the midst of the Path, and no hurt shall 
come unto thee. 

Difficulty is behind, Fear is before, 
Though, he's got on the Hill, the Lions roar; 
A Christian man is never long at ease, 
When one fright's gone, another doth him seize. 

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the 
Lions, but taking good heed to the directions of the Porter; 
he heard them roar, but they did him no harm. Then he 
clapped his hands, and went on, till he came and stood before 
the Gate where the Porter was. Then said Christian to 
the Porter, Sir, what house is this? and may I lodge here 
to-night? The Porter answered, This house was built by 
the Lord of the Hill, and he built it for the relief and security 
of Pilgrims. The Porter also asked whence he was, and 
whither he was going? 


CHR. I am come from the City of Destruction, and am 
going to Mount Zion; but because the Sun is now set, I 
desire, if I may, to lodge here to-night. 

POR. What is your name? 

CHR. My name is now Christian, but my name at the 
first was Graceless; I came of the race of Japheth, whom 
God will persuade to dwell in the Tents of Shem. 

POR. But how doth it happen that you come so late? 
The Sun is set. 

CHR. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched man 
that I am! I slept in the Arbour that stands on the Hill- 
side; nay, I had, notwithstanding that, been here much 
sooner, but that in my sleep I lost my evidence, and came 
without it to the brow of the Hill; and then feeling for it, 
and finding it not, I was forced with sorrow of heart to 
go back to the place where I slept my sleep, where I found 
it, and now I am come. 

POR. Well, I will call out one of the Virgins of this 
place, who will, if she likes your talk, bring you in to the 
rest of the Family, according to the rules of the house. 
So Watchful the Porter, rang a bell, at the sound of which 
came out at the door of the house a grave and beautiful 
Damsel named Discretion, and asked why she was called. 

The Porter answered, This man is in a Journey from 
the City of Destruction to Mount Zion, but being weary 
and benighted, he asked me if he might lodge here to-night ; 
so I told him I would call for thee, who, after discourse 
had with him, mayest do as seemeth thee good, even 
according to the Law of the house. 

Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he 
was going; and he told her. She asked him also, how he 
got into the way; and he told her. Then she asked him, 
what he had seen and met with in the way; and he told 
her. And last she asked his name; so he said, It is Chris- 
tian, and I have so much the more a desire to lodge here 
to-night, because, by what I perceive, this place was built 


by the Lord of the Hlil, for the relief and security of 
Pilgrims. So she smiled, but the water stood in her eyes; 
and after a little pause she said, I will call forth two or 
three more of the Family. So she ran to the door, and 
called out Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who, after a little 
more discourse with him, had him in to the Family; and 
many of them, meeting him at the threshold of the house, 
said, Come in thou blessed of the Lord; this house was 
built by the Lord of the Hill on purpose to entertain such 
Pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head, and followed them 
into the house. So when he was come in and set down, 
they gave him something to drink, and consented together, 
that until supper was ready, some of them should have 
some particular discourse with Christian, for the best im- 
provement of time ; and they appointed Piety, and Prudence, 
and Charity to discourse with him; and thus they began. 

PIETY. Come, good Christian, since we have been so 
loving to you, to receive you into our house this night, let 
us, if perhaps we may better ourselves thereby, talk with 
you of all things that have happened to you in your 

CHR. With a very good will, and I am glad that you 
are so well disposed. 

PIETY. What moved you at first to betake you to a 
Pilgrim's life? 

CHR. I was driven out of my Native Country by a 
dreadful sound that was in mine ears: to wit, that un- 
avoidable destruction did attend me if I abode in that 
place where I was. 

PIETY. But how did it happen that you came out of 
your Country this way? 

CHR. It was as God would have it; for when I was 
under the fears of destruction, I did not know whither 
to go; but by chance there came a Man, even to me, as I 
was trembling and weeping, whose name is Evangelist, and 
he directed me to the Wicket-gate, which else I should 


never have found; and so set me into the way that hath 
led me directly to this House. 

PIETY. But did you not come by the house of the 
Interpreter ? 

CHR. Yes, and did see such things there, the remem- 
brance of which will stick by me as long as I live ; especially 
three things: to wit, How Christ, in despite of Satan, 
maintains his work of Grace in the heart; how the man 
had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's mercy; and 
also the Dream of him that thought in his sleep the day of 
Judgment was come. 

PIETY. Why, did you hear him tell his dream ? 

CHR. Yes, and a dreadful one it was. I thought it 
made my heart ache as he was telling of it; but yet I am 
glad I heard it. 

PIETY. Was that all that you saw at the House of the 
Interpreter ? 

CHR. No: he took me and had me where he shewed 
me a stately Palace, and how the people were clad in Gold 
that were in it; and how there came a venturous Man and 
cut his way through the armed men that stood in the door 
to keep him out, and how he was bid to come in and win 
eternal Glory. Methought those things did ravish my 
heart; I could have stayed at that good Man's house a 
twelvemonth, but that I knew I had farther to go. 

PIETY. And what saw you else in the way ? 

CHR. Saw! Why, I went but a little farther, and I saw 
one, as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon the 
Tree; and the very sight of him made my burden fall off 
my back (for I groaned under a weary burden), but then 
it fell down from off me. Twas a strange thing to me, 
for I never saw such a thing before ; yea, and while I stood 
looking up (for then I could not forbear looking) three 
Shining Ones came to me. One of them testified that my 
sins were forgiven me; another stript me of my Rags, and 
gave me this broidered Coat which you see; and the third 

hnstian warns iSloth. jSimple and Presumption 

_ -."^--. 


set the Mark which you see in my forehead, and gave me 
this sealed Roll: (and with that he plucked it out of his 

PIETY. But you saw more than this, did you not? 

CHR. The things that I have told you were the best; 
yet some other small matters I saw, as namely I saw three 
Men, Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, lie asleep a little 
out of the way as I came, with Irons upon their heels ; but 
do you think I could awake them? I also saw Formalist 
and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the wall, to go, as they 
pretended, to Zion; but they were quickly lost, even as 
I myself did tell them, but they would not believe. But, 
above all, I found it hard work to get up this Hill, and as 
hard to come by the Lions' mouths; and truly if it had 
not been for the good Man, the Porter that stands at the 
Gate, I do not know but that after all I might have gone 
back again; but now I thank God I am here, and I thank 
you for receiving of me. 

Then Prudence thought good to ask him a, few questions, 
and desired his answer to them. 

PRUD. Do you not think sometimes of the Country 
from whence you came ? 

CHR. Yes, but with much shame and detestation: 
truly, if I had been mindful of that Country from whence 
I came out, I might have had opportunity to have returned; 
but now I desire a better Country, that is, an Heavenly. 

PRUD. Do you not yet bear away with you some of 
the things that then you were conversant withal? 

CHR. Yes, but greatly against my will; especially my 
inward and carnal cogitations; with which all my country- 
men, as well as myself, were delighted; but now all those 
things are my grief; and might I but choose mine own 
things, I would choose never to think of those things more ; 
but when I would be doing of that which is best, that 
which is worst is with me. 

PRUD. Do you not find sometimes, as if those things 


were vanquished, which at other times are your per- 
plexity ? 

CHR. Yes, but that is but seldom; but they are to me 
golden hours in which such things happen to me. 

PRUD. Can you remember by what means you find your 
annoyances at times, as if they were vanquished ? 

CHR. Yes, when I think what I saw at the Cross, that 
will do it; and when I look upon my broidered Coat, that 
will do it; also when I look into the Roll that I carry in 
my bosom, that will do it; and when my thoughts wax 
warm about whither I am going, that will do it. 

PRUD. And what is it that makes you so desirous to 
go to Mount Zion? 

CHR. Why, there I hope to see him alive that did hang 
dead on the Cross; and there I hope to be rid of all those 
things that to this day are in me an annoyance to me; 
there, they say, there is no death; and there I shall dwell 
with such Company as I like best. For to tell you truth, 
I love him, because I was by him eased of my Burden, and 
I am weary of my inward sickness; I would fain be where 
I shall die no more, and with the Company that shall con- 
tinually cry, Holy, Holy, Holy. 

Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family? 
Are you a married man? 

CHR. I have a Wife and four small Children. 

CHAR. And why did you not bring them along with you ? 

CHR. Then Christian wept, and said, Oh how willingly 
would I have done it, but they were all of them utterly 
averse to my going on Pilgrimage. 

CHAR. But you should have talked to them, and have en- 
deavoured to have shewn them the danger of being behind. 

CHR. So I did, and told them also what God had shewed 
to me of the destruction of our City; but I seemed to them 
as one that mocked, and they believed me not. 

CHAR. And did you pray to God that he would bless 
your counsel to them ? 


CHR. Yes, and that with much affection; for you must 
think that my Wife and poor Children were very dear unto 

CHAR. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and 
fear of destruction? for I suppose that destruction was 
visible enough to you. 

CHR. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also 
see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and also in 
my trembling under the apprehension of the Judgment 
that did hang over our heads; but all was not sufficient 
to prevail with them to come with me. 

CHAR. But what could they say for themselves, why 
they came not? 

CHR. Why, my Wife was afraid of losing this World, and 
my Children were given to the foolish Delights of youth: so 
what by one thing, and what by another, they left me to 
wander in this manner alone. 

CHAR. But did you not with your vain life, damp all 
that you by words used by way of persuasion to bring 
them away with you ? 

CHR. Indeed I cannot commend my life; for I am 
conscious to myself of many failings therein: I know also 
that a man by his conversation may soon overthrow what 
by argument or persuasion he doth labour to fasten upon 
others for their good. Yet this I can say, I was very wary 
of giving them occasion, by any unseemly action, to make 
them averse to going on Pilgrimage. Yea, for this very 
thing they would tell me I was too precise, and that I 
denied myself of things (for their sakes) in which they 
saw no evil. Nay, I think I may say, that if what they 
saw in me did hinder them, it was my great tenderness 
in sinning against God, or of doing any wrong to my 

CHAR. Indeed Cain hated his Brother, because his own 
works were evil, and his Brother's righteous; and if thy 
Wife and Children have been offended with thee for this, 


they thereby shew themselves to be implacable to good, 
and thou hast delivered thy soul from their blood. 

Now I saw in my Dream that thus they sat talking 
together until supper was ready. So when they had made 
ready, they sat down to meat. Now the Table was fur- 
nished with fat things, and with Wine that was well refined : 
and all their talk at the Table was about the LORD of the 
Hill; as namely, about what HE had done, and wherefore 
HE did what He did, and why HE had builded that House : 
and by what they said, I perceived that he had been a 
great Warrior and had fought with and slain him that had 
the power of Death, but not without great danger to himself, 
which made me love him the more. 

For, as they said, and as I believe (said Christian) he 
did it with the loss of much blood; but that which put 
Glory of Grace into all he did was, that he did it out of 
pure love to his Country. And, besides, there were some 
of them of the household that said they had seen and spoke 
with him since he did die on the Cross; and they have 
attested that they had it from his own lips, that he is such 
a lover of poor Pilgrims that the like is not to be found 
from the East to the West. 

They moreover gave an instance of what they affirmed, 
and that was, He had stript himself of his glory, that he 
might do this for the Poor; and that they heard him say 
and affirm, That he would not dwell in the Mountain of 
Zion alone. They said, moreover, that he had made many 
Pilgrims Princes, though by nature they were Beggars 
born, and their original had been the dunghill. 

Thus they discoursed together till late at night; and 
after they had committed themselves to their Lord for 
protection, they betook themselves to rest. The Pilgrim 
they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened 
towards the Sun rising: the name of the chamber was 
Peace, where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke 
and sang, 


Where am I now ? Is this the love and care 
Of Jesus, for the men that Pilgrims are 
Thus to provide ! That I should be forgiven ! 
And dwell already the next door to Heaven! 

So in the morning they all got up, and after some more 
discourse, they told him that he should not depart till they 
had shewed him the Rarities of that place. And first they 
had him into the Study, where they shewed him Records 
of the greatest antiquity; in which, as I remember in my 
Dream, they shewed him first the Pedigree of the Lord of 
the Hill, that he was the Son of the Ancient of Days, and 
came by an Eternal Generation. Here also was more fully 
recorded the Acts that he had done, and the names of 
many hundreds that he had taken into his service; and 
how he had placed them in such Habitations that could 
neither by length of Days, nor decays of Nature, be dis- 

Then they read to him some of the worthy Acts that 
some of his servants had done: as, how they had subdued 
Kingdoms, wrought Righteousness, obtained Promises, 
stopped the mouths of Lions, quenched the violence of 
Fire, escaped the edge of the Sword; out of weakness were 
made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned to flight 
the Armies of the Aliens. 

Then they read again in another part of the Records of 
the house, where it was shewed how willing their Lord was 
to receive into his favour any, even any, though they in 
time past had offered great affronts to his Person and pro- 
ceedings. Here also were several other Histories of many 
other famous things, of all which Christian had a view; 
as of things both Ancient and Modern: together with 
Prophecies and Predictions of things that have their certain 
accomplishment, both to the dread and amazement of 
Enemies, and the comfort and solace of Pilgrims. 

The next day they took him and had him into the 
Armoury, where they shewed him all manner of Furniture, 
which their Lord had provided for Pilgrims, as Sword, 


Shield, Helmet, Breastplate, All-prayer, and Shoes that 
would not wear out. And there was here enough of this 
to harness out as many men for the service of their Lord 
as there be Stars in the Heaven for multitude. 

They also shewed him some of the Engines with which 
some of his Servants had done wonderful things. They 
shewed him Moses' Rod; the Hammer and Nail with 
which Jael slew Sisera; the Pitchers, Trumpets, and Lamps, 
too, with which Gideon put to flight the Armies of Midian : 
then they shewed him the Ox's goad wherewith Shamgar 
slew six hundred men: they shewed him also the Jaw-bone 
with which Samson did such mighty feats: they shewed 
him moreover the Sling and Stone with which David slew 
Goliath of Gath; and the Sword also with which their 
Lord will kill the Man of Sin in the day that he shall rise 
up to the prey. They shewed him besides many excellent 
things, with which Christian was much delighted. This 
done, they went to their rest again. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that on the morrow he got 
up to go forwards, but they desired him to stay till the next 
day also; and then, said they, we will (if the day be clear) 
shew you the Delectable Mountains; which, they said, 
would yet further add to his comfort, because they were 
nearer the desired Haven than the place where at present 
he was. So he consented and stayed. When the morning 
was up, they had him to the top of the House, and bid him 
look South; so he did: and behold at a great distance he 
saw a most pleasant Mountainous Country, beautified with 
Woods, Vineyards, Fruits of all sorts, Flowers also, with 
Springs and Fountains, very delectable to behold. Then 
he asked the name of the Country: they said it was Im- 
manuel's Land ; and it is as common, said they, as this Hill 
is, to and for all the Pilgrims. And when thou comest there, 
from thence, said they, thou mayest see to the gate of the 
Celestial City, as the Shepherds that live there will make 


Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they 
were willing he should : but first, said they, let us go again 
into the Armoury: so they did; and when they came there, 
they harnessed him from head to foot with what was of 
proof, lest perhaps he should meet with assaults in the way. 

Whilst Christian is among his godly friends, 
Their golden mouths make him sufficient 'mends 
For all his griefs; and when they let him go, 
He's clad with northern steel from top to toe. 

He being therefore thus accoutred, walketh out with 
his friends to the Gate, and there he asked the Porter if 
he saw any Pilgrims pass by. Then the Porter answered, 

CHR. Pray, did you know him ? 

POR. I asked his name, and he told me it was Faithful. 

CHR. Oh, said Christian, I know him ; he is my Towns- 
man, my near Neighbour, he comes from the place where 
I was born : How far do you think he may be before ? 

POR. He is got by this time below the Hill. 

CHR. Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord be 
with thee, and add to all thy blessings much increase, for 
the kindness that thou hast shewed to me. 

Then he began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, 
Charity, and Prudence, would accompany him down to the 
foot of the Hill. So they went on together, reiterating 
their former discourses, till they came to go down the Hill. 
Then said Christian, As it was difficult coming up, so (so 
far as I can see) it is dangerous going down. Yes, said 
Prudence, so it is; for it is a hard matter for a man to go 
down into the Valley of Humiliation, as thou art now, and 
to catch no slip by the way; therefore, said they, are we 
come out to accompany thee down the Hill. So he began 
to go down, but very warily; yet he caught a slip or 

Then I saw in my Dream that these good Companions, 
when Christian was gone down to the bottom of the Hill, 


gave him a loaf of Bread, a bottle of Wine, and a cluster of 
Raisins; and then he went on his way. 

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian 
was hard put to it; for he had gone but a little way before 
he espied a foul Fiend coming over the field to meet him; 
his name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be 
afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to go back or to 
stand his ground: but he considered again that he had no 
Armour for his back, and therefore thought that to turn 
the back to him might give him the greater advantage 
with ease to pierce him with his Darts. Therefore he 
resolved to venture and stand his ground. For, thought 
he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, 
'twould be the best way to stand. 

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the 
Monster was hideous to behold ; he was clothed with scales 
like a Fish (and they are his pride); he had wings like a 
Dragon, feet like a Bear, and out of his belly came Fire and 
Smoke; and his mouth was as the mouth of a Lion. When 
he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with a disdain- 
ful countenance, and thus began to question with him. 

APOL. Whence come you ? and whither are you bound ? 

CHR. I am come from the City of Destruction, which 
is the place of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion. 

APOL. By this I perceive thou art one of my Subjects, 
for all that Country is mine, and I am the Prince and God 
of it. How is it then that thou hast run away from thy 
King? Were it not that I hope thou mayest do me more 
service, I would strike thee now at one blow to the ground. 

CHR. I was born indeed in your dominions, but your 
service was hard, and your wages such as a man could not 
live on, for the wages of sin is death; therefore when I 
was come to years, I did as other considerate persons do, 
look out, if perhaps I might mend myself. 

APOL. There is no Prince that will thus lightly lose his 
subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee: but since thou 


complainest of thy service and wages, be content to go 
back; what our Country will afford, I do here promise to 
give thee. 

CHR. But I have let myself to another, even to the 
King of Princes, and how can I with fairness go back with 

APOL. Thou hast done in this, according to the Proverb, 
changed a bad for a worse; but it is ordinary for those 
that have professed themselves his Servants, after a while 
to give him the slip, and return again to me: Do thou so 
too, and all shall be well. 

CHR. I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegi- 
ance to him; how then can I go back from this, and not 
be hanged as a Traitor? 

APOL. Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing 
to pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go 

CHR. What I promised thee was in my nonage; and 
besides I count that the Prince under whose Banner now I 
stand is able to absolve me; yea, and to pardon also what 
I did as to my compliance with thee; and besides, O thou 
destroying Apollyon, to speak truth, I like his Service, his 
Wages, his Servants, his Government, his Company, and 
Country, better than thine; and therefore leave off to 
persuade me further; I am his Servant, and I will follow 

APOL. Consider again when thou art in cool blood, 
what thou art like to meet with in the way that thou goest. 
Thou knowest that for the most part his Servants come to 
an ill end, because they are transgressors against me and 
my ways: How many of them have been put to shameful 
deaths! and besides, thou countest his service better than 
mine, whereas he never came yet from the place where he 
is, to deliver any that served him out of our hands; but 
as for me, how many times, as all the World very well 
knows, have I delivered, either by power or fraud, those 


that have faithfully served me, from him and his, though 
taken by them; and so I will deliver thee. 

CHR. His forbearing at present to deliver them is on 
purpose to try their love, whether they will cleave to him 
to the end; and as for the ill end thou sayest they come 
to, that is most glorious in their account; for, for present 
deliverance, they do not much expect it; for they stay 
for their Glory, and then they shall have it, when their 
Prince comes in his and the Glory of the Angels. 

APOL. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service 
to him, and how dost thou think to receive wages of him? 

CHR. Wherein, O Apollyon, have I been unfaithful to 

APOL. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou 
wast almost choked in the Gulf of Despond; thou didst 
attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy Burden, whereas thou 
shouldest have stayed till thy Prince had taken it off; 
thou didst sinfully sleep and lose thy choice thing; thou 
wast almost persuaded to go back, at the sight of the 
Lions; and when thou talkest of thy Journey, and of 
what thou hast heard and seen, thou art inwardly desirous 
of vain-glory in all that thou sayest or doest. 

CHR. All this is true, and much more which thou hast 
left out ; but the Prince whom I serve and honour is merci- 
ful, and ready to forgive; but, besides, these infirmities 
possessed me in thy Country, for there I sucked them in, 
and I have groaned under them, been sorry for them, and 
have obtained Pardon of my Prince. 

APOL. Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, 
saying, I am an enemy to this Prince; I hate his Person, 
his Laws, and People; I am come out on purpose to with- 
stand thee. 

CHR. Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the 
King's Highway, the way of Holiness, therefore take heed 
to yourself. 

APOL. Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole 

ftL\J|Kristian conquers Apollyon. 


breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this 
matter, prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal 
Den, that thou shalt go no farther; here will I spill thy soul. 

And with that he threw a flaming Dart at his breast, 
but Christian had a Shield in his hand, with which he 
caught it, and so prevented the danger of that. 

Then did Christian draw, for he saw 'twas time to 
bestir him: and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing 
Darts as thick as Hail; by the which, notwithstanding all 
that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him 
in his head, his hand, and foot: This made Christian give 
a little back; Apollyon therefore followed his work amain, 
and Christian again took courage and resisted as manfully 
as he could. This sore Combat lasted for above half a day, 
even till Christian was almost quite spent; for you must 
know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs 
grow weaker and weaker. 

Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to gather 
up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a 
dreadful fall; and with that Christian's Sword flew out of 
his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now : and 
with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that 
Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have 
it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to 
make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly reached 
out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice 
not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall I shall arise; 
and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him 
give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: 
Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, 
in all these things we are more than conquerors through 
him that loved us. And with that Apollyon spread forth 
his Dragon's wings, and sped him away, that Christian for 
a season saw him no more. 

In this Combat no man can imagine, unless he had 
seen and heard as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring 


Apollyon made all the time of the fight, he spake like a 
Dragon; and on the other side, what sighs and groans 
burst from Christian's heart. I never saw him all the 
while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived 
he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged Sword; then 
indeed he did smile, and look upward; but 'twas the dread- 
fullest sight that ever I saw. 

A more unequal match can hardly be: 
Christian must fight an Angel; but you see 
The Valiant Man by handling Sword and Shield, 
Doth make him, though a Dragon, quit the field. 

So when the Battle was over, Christian said, I will here 
give thanks to him that hath delivered me out of the mouth 
of the Lion, to him that did help me against Apollyon. 
And so he did, saying, 

Great Beelzebub, the Captain of this Fiend, 
Design* d my ruin; therefore to this end 
He sent him harness' d out: and he with rage 
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage : 
But blessed Michael helped me, and I 
By dint of Sword did quickly make him fly. 
Therefore to him let me give lasting praise, 
And thank and bless his holy name always. 

Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves 
of the Tree of Life, the which Christian took, and applied 
to the wounds that he had received in the Battle, and 
was healed immediately. He also sat down in that place 
to eat Bread, and to drink of the Bottle that was given 
him a little before ; so being refreshed, he addressed himself 
to his Journey, with his Sword drawn in his hand; for he 
said, I know not but some other Enemy may be at hand. 
But he met with no other affront from Apollyon quite 
through this Valley. 

Now at the end of this Valley was another, called the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs 
go through it, because the way to the Celestial City lay 
through the midst of it. Now, this Valley is a very solitary 
place. The Prophet Jeremiah thus describes it: A wilder- 


ness, a land of deserts and of pits, a land of drought, and 
of the shadow of death, a land that no man (but a Christian) 
passeth through, and where no man dwelt. 

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight 
with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see. 

I saw then in my Dream, that when Christian was got 
to the borders of the Shadow of Death, there met him 
two men, Children of them that brought up an evil report 
of the good land, making haste to go back; to whom 
Christian spake as follows, 

CHR. Whither are you going? 

MEN. They said, Back, back; and we would have you 
to do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you. 

CHR. Why, what's the matter? said Christian. 

MEN. Matter! said they; we were going that way as 
you are going, and went as far as we durst; and indeed 
we were almost past coming back; for had we gone a little 
farther, we had not been here to bring the news to thee. 

CHR. But what have you met with? said Christian. 

MEN. Why we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death; but that by good hap we looked before us, and 
saw the danger before we came to it. 

CHR. But what have you seen? said Christian. 

MEN. Seen! Why, the Valley itself, which is as dark 
as pitch; we also saw there the Hobgoblins, Satyrs, and 
Dragons of the Pit; we heard also in that Valley a continual 
howling and yelling, as of a people under unutterable 
misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons; and 
over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of Confusion; 
Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a 
word it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without Order. 

CHR. Then said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what 
you have said, but that this is my way to the desired 

MEN. Be it thy way ; we will not choose it for ours. So 
they parted, and Christian went on his way, but still with 


his Sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be 

I saw then in my Dream, so far as this Valley reached, 
there was on the right hand a very deep Ditch; that Ditch 
is it unto which the blind have led the blind in all ages, 
and have both there miserably perished. Again, behold 
on the left hand, there was a very dangerous Quag, into 
which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom for 
his foot to stand on. Into that Quag King David once 
did fall, and had no doubt therein been smothered, had not 
he that is able plucked him out. 

The pathway was here .also exceeding narrow, and 
therefore good Christian was the more put to it; for when 
he sought in the dark to shun the Ditch on the one hand, 
he was ready to tip over into the mire on the other; also 
when he sought to escape the mire, without great careful- 
ness he would be ready to fall into the Ditch. Thus he 
went on, and I heard him here sigh bitterly; for, besides 
the dangers mentioned above, the pathway was here so 
dark, that oft-times, when he lift up his foot to set forward, 
he knew not where, or upon what he should set it next. 

Poor man ! where art thou now ? Thy Day is Night. 
Good man be not cast down, thou yet art right: 
Thy way to Heaven lies by the gates of Hell ; 
Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall go well. 

About the midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth 
of Hell to be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, 
thought Christian, what shall I do ? And ever and anon the 
flame and smoke would come out in such abundance, with 
sparks and hideous noises (things that cared not for Chris- 
tian's Sword, as did Apollyon before) that he was forced 
to put up his Sword, and betake himself to another weapon, 
called All-prayer. So he cried in my hearing, O Lord I 
beseech thee deliver my Soul. Thus he went on a great 
while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards him: 
also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so 


that sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, 
or trodden down like mire in the Streets. This frightful 
sight was seen, and these dreadful noises were heard by 
him for several miles together; and coming to a place 
where he thought he heard a company of Fiends coming 
forward to meet him, he stopped, and began to muse 
what he had best to do. Sometimes he had half a 
thought to go back; then again he thought he might 
be half way through the Valley; he remembered also 
how he had already vanquished many a danger, and 
that the danger of going back might be much more than 
for to go forward; so he resolved to go on. Yet the 
Fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer; but when 
they were come even almost at him, he cried out with 
a most vehement voice, I will walk in the strength 
of the Lord God ; so they gave back, and came no 

One thing I would not let slip; I took notice that now 
poor Christian was so confounded that he did not know 
his own voice; and thus I perceived it: just when he was 
come over against the mouth of the burning Pit, one of the 
wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up softly to him, 
and whisperingly suggested many grievous blasphemies to 
him, which he verily thought had proceeded from his own 
mind. This put Christian more to it than anything that 
he met with before, even to think that he should now 
blaspheme him that he loved so much before; yet, if he 
could have helped it, he would not have done it; but he 
had not the discretion neither to stop his ears, nor to know 
from whence those blasphemies came. 

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate con- 
dition some considerable time, he thought he heard the 
voice of a man, as going before him, saying, Though I walk 
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear 
none ill, for thou art with me. 

Then was he glad, and that for these reasons: 



First, Because he gathered from thence, that some who 
feared God were in this Valley as well as himself. 

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, 
though in that dark and dismal State ; and why not, thought 
he, with me? though by reason of the impediment that 
attends this place, I cannot perceive it. 

Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, 
to have company by and by. So he went on, and called 
to him that was before; but he knew not what to answer, 
for that he also thought himself to be alone. And by and 
by the day broke; then said Christian, He hath turned the 
Shadow of Death into the morning. 

Now morning being come, he looked back, not out of 
desire to return, but to see, by the light of the day, what 
hazards he had gone through in the dark. So he saw 
more perfectly the Ditch that was on the one hand, and 
the Quag that was on the other; also how narrow the way 
was which lay betwixt them both; also now he saw the 
Hobgoblins, and Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit, but all 
afar off; for after break of day they came not nigh; yet 
they were discovered to him, according to that which is 
written, He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and 
bringeth out to light the Shadow of Death. 

Now was Christian much affected with his deliverance 
from all the dangers of his solitary way; which dangers, 
though he feared them more before, yet he saw them more 
clearly now, because the Hght of the day made them con- 
spicuous to him. And about this time the Sun was rising, 
and this was another mercy to Christian; for you must 
note, that though the first part of the Valley of the Shadow 
of Death was dangerous, yet this second part which he was 
yet to go, was, if possible, far more dangerous: for from 
the place where he now stood, even to the end of the Valley, 
the way was all along set so full of Snares, Traps, Gins, 
and Nets here, and so full of Pits, Pitfalls, deep Holes, and 
Shelvings down there, that had it now been dark as it was 


when he came the first part of the way, had he had a 
thousand souls, they had in reason been cast away; but 
as I said, just now the Sun was rising. Then said he, His 
candle shineth on my head, and by his light I go through 

In this light therefore he came to the end of the Valley. 
Now I saw in my Dream, that at the end of this Valley 
lay blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even 
of Pilgrims that had gone this way formerly; and while 
I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a little 
before me a Cave, where two Giants, Pope and Pagan, 
dwelt in old time; by whose power and tyranny the men 
whose bones, blood, ashes, etc., lay there, were cruelly put 
to death. But by this place Christian went without much 
danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learned 
since that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for 
the other, though he be yet alive, he is by reason of 
age, and also of the many shrewd brushes that he met 
with in his younger days, grown so crazy, and stiff in his 
joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his Cave's 
mouth, grinning at Pilgrims as they go by, and biting his 
nails, because he cannot come at them. 

So I saw that Christian went on his way; yet at the 
sight of the Old Man that sat in the mouth of the Cave, he 
could not tell what to think, specially because he spake 
to him, though he could not go after him, saying, You will 
never mend till more of you be burned: but he held his 
peace, and set a good face on't, and so went by and catched 
no hurt. Then sang Christian, 

O world of wonders ! (I can say no less) 

That I should be preserv'd in that distress 

That I have met with here ! O blessed be 

That hand that from it hath delivered me ! 

Dangers in darkness, Devils, Hell, and Sin, 

Did compass me, while I this Vale was in : 

Yea, Snares, and Pits, and Traps, and Nets did lie 

My path about, that worthless silly I 

Might have been catch'd, intangled, and cast down; 

But since I live, let JESUS wear the Crown. 


Now as Christian went on his way, he came to a little 
ascent, which was cast up on purpose that Pilgrims might 
see before them. Up there therefore Christian went, and 
looking forward he saw Faithful before him upon his 
Journey. Then said Christian aloud, Ho, ho, So-ho; stay, 
and I will be your Companion. At that Faithful looked 
behind him; to whom Christian cried again, Stay, stay, 
till I come up to you: But Faithful answered, No, I am 
upon my life, and the Avenger of Blood is behind me. 

At this Christian was somewhat moved, and putting 
to all his strength, he quickly got up with Faithful, and 
did also overrun him, so the last was first. Then did 
Christian vain-gloriously smile, because he had gotten the 
start of his Brother; but not taking good heed to his 
feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not rise 
again, until Faithful came up to help him. 

Then I saw in my Dream they went very lovingly on 
together, and had sweet discourse of all things that had 
happened to them in their Pilgrimage; and thus Christian 

CHR. My honoured and well-beloved Brother Faithful, 
I am glad that I have overtaken you; and that God has 
so tempered our spirits, that we can walk as Companions 
in this so pleasant a path. 

FAITH. I had thought, dear Friend, to have had your 
company quite from our Town; but you did get the start 
of me, wherefore I was forced to come thus much of the 
way alone. 

CHR. How long did you stay in the City of Destruction, 
before you set out after me on your Pilgrimage ? 

FAITH. Till I could stay no longer; for there was great 
talk presently after you was gone out, that our City would 
in short time with Fire from Heaven be burned down to 
the ground. 

CHR. What, did your Neighbours talk so ? 

FAITH. Yes, 'twas for a while in everybody's mouth. 


CHR. What, and did no more of them but you come 
out to escape the danger? 

FAITH. Though there was, as I said, a great talk there- 
about, yet I do not think they did firmly believe it. For 
in the heat of the discourse, I heard some of them deridingly 
speak of you and of your desperate Journey (for so they 
called this your Pilgrimage), but I did believe, and do 
still, that the end of our City will be with Fire and Brim- 
stone from above; and therefore I have made mine escape. 

CHR. Did you hear no talk of Neighbour Pliable? 

FAITH. Yes, Christian, I heard that he followed you till 
he came at the Slough of Despond, where, as some said, he 
fell in; but he would not be known to have so done; but 
I am sure he was soundly bedabbled with that kind of dirt. 

CHR. And what said the Neighbours to him? 

FAITH. He hath since his going back been had greatly 
in derision, and that among all sorts of people; some do 
mock and despise him; and scarce will any set him on 
work. He is now seven times worse than if he had never 
gone out of the City. 

CHR. But why should they be so set against him, since 
they also despise the way that he forsook? 

FAITH. Oh, they say, Hang him, he is a Turncoat, he 
was not true to his profession: I think God has stirred 
up even his Enemies to hiss at him, and make him a Proverb, 
because he hath forsaken the way. 

CHR. Had you no talk with him before you came 

FAITH. I met him once in the Streets, but he leered 
away on the other side, as one ashamed of what he had 
done; so I spake not to him. , 

CHR. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that 
man; but now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of 
the City, for it is happened to him according to the true 
Proverb, The Dog is turned to his Vomit again, and the 
Sow that was washed to her wallowing in the Mire. 


FAITH. They are my fears of him too; but who can 
hinder that which will be? 

CHR. Well, Neighbour Faithful, said Christian, let us 
leave him, and talk of things that more immediately concern 
ourselves. Tell me now, what you have met with hi the 
way as you came; for I know you have met with some 
things, or else it may be writ for a wonder. 

FAITH. I escaped the Slough that I perceive you fell 
into, and got up to the Gate without that danger; only I 
met with one whose name was Wanton, that had like to 
have done me a mischief. 

CHR. 'Twas well you escaped her Net; Joseph was hard 
put to it by her, and he escaped her as you did; but it had 
like to have cost him his life. But what did she do to you ? 

FAITH. You cannot think (but that you know some- 
thing) what a flattering tongue she had; she lay at me 
hard to turn aside with her, promising me all manner of 

CHR. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a 
good conscience. 

FAITH. You know what I mean, all carnal and fleshly 

CHR. Thank God you have escaped her: The abhorred 
of the Lord shall fall into her Ditch. 

FAITH. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape 
her or no. 

CHR. Why, I trow you did not consent to her desires? 

FAITH. No, not to defile myself; for I remembered an 
old writing that I had seen, which saith, Her steps take 
hold of Hell. So I shut mine eyes, because I would not 
be bewitched with her looks: then she railed on me, and I 
went my way. 

CHR. Did you meet with no other assault as you came ? 

FAITH. When I came to the foot of the Hill called 
Difficulty, I met with a very aged Man, who asked me, 
What I was, and whither bound? I told him, That I was 


a Pilgrim, going to the Celestial City. Then said the old 
man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow; wilt thou be 
content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give 
thee? Then I asked him his name, and where he dwelt? 
He said his name was Adam the First, and he dwelt in the 
town of Deceit. I asked him then, What was his work? 
and what the wages that he would give? He told me, 
That his work was many delights; and his wages, that I 
should be his Heir at last. I further asked him, What House 
he kept, and what other Servants he had ? So he told me, 
That his House was maintained with all the dainties in 
the world; and that his Servants were those of his own 
begetting. Then I asked how many Children he had ? He 
said that he had but three Daughters: The Lust of the 
Flesh, The Lust of the Eyes, and The Pride of Life, and that 
I should marry them all if I would. Then I asked how 
long time he would have me live with him ? And he told 
me, As long as he lived himself. 

CHR. Well, and what conclusion came the old man 
and you to at last ? 

FAITH. Why, at first, I felt myself somewhat inclinable 
to go with the man, for I thought he spake very fair; but 
looking in his forehead, as I talked with him, I saw there 
written, Put off the old man with his deeds. 

CHR. And how then? 

FAITH. Then it came burning hot into my mind, what- 
ever he said, and however he flattered, when he got me 
home to his House, he would sell me for a slave. So I bid 
him forbear to talk, for I would not come near the door of 
his House. Then he reviled me, and told me that he would 
send such a one after me, that should make my way bitter 
to my Soul. So I turned to go away from him; but just 
as I turned myself to go thence, I felt him take hold of my 
flesh, and give me such a deadly twitch back, that I thought 
he had pulled part of me after himself. This made me 
cry, O wretched Man! So I went on my way up the Hill. 


Now when I had got about halfway up, I looked behind 
me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind; so he 
overtook me just about the place where the Settle stands. 

CHR. Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest 
me; but being overcome with sleep, I there lost this Roll 
out of my bosom. 

FAITH. But, good Brother, hear me out. So soon as 
the man overtook me, he was but a word and a blow, for 
down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But when I 
was a little come to myself again, I asked him wherefore 
he served me so ? He said, Because of my secret inclining 
to Adam the First: and with that he struck me another 
deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down backward, 
so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So when I came to 
myself again I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not 
how to shew mercy, and with that knocked me down 
again. He had doubtless made an end of me, but that 
one came by, and bid him forbear. 

CHR. Who was that that bid him forbear? 

FAITH. I did not know him at first, but as he went by 
I perceived the holes in his hands and in his side; then 
I concluded that he was our Lord. So I went up the Hill. 

CHR. That man that overtook you was Moses: He 
spareth none, neither knoweth he how to shew mercy to 
those that transgress his Law. 

FAITH. I know it very well; it was not the first time 
that he has met with me. 'Twas he that came to me when 
I dwelt securely at home, and that told me, He would burn 
my house over my head if I stayed there. 

CHR. But did you not see the house that stood there on 
the top of that Hill, on the side of which Moses met you ? 

FAITH. Yes, and the Lions too, before I came at it : but 
for the Lions, I think they were asleep, for it was about 
Noon; and because I had so much of the day before me, 
I passed by the Porter, and came down the Hill. 

CHR. He told me, indeed, that he saw you goby, but 


I wish you had called at the house, for they would have 
shewed you so many Rarities, that you would scarce have 
forgot them to the day of your death. But pray tell me, 
Did you meet nobody in the Valley of Humility ? 

FAITH. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would 
willingly have persuaded me to go back again with him; 
his reason was, for that the Valley was altogether without 
honour. He told me, moreover, that there to go was the 
way to disobey all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, Self- 
conceit, Worldly-glory, with others, who he knew, as he 
said, would be very much offended if I made such a Fool 
of myself as to wade through this Valley. 

CHR. Well, and how did you answer him? 

FAITH. I told him, That although all these that he 
named might claim kindred of me, and that rightly (for 
indeed they were my Relations according to the flesh), yet 
since I became a Pilgrim, they have disowned me, as I also 
have rejected them; and therefore they were to me now 
no more than if they had never been of my lineage. I told 
him, moreover, that as to this Valley, he had quite mis- 
represented the thing; for before Honour is Humility, and 
a haughty spirit before a fall. Therefore, said I, I had 
rather go through this Valley to the honour that was so 
accounted by the wisest, than choose that which he esteemed 
most worthy our affections. 

CHR. Met you with nothing else in that Valley ? 

FAITH. Yes, I met with Shame ; but of all the men that 
I met with in my Pilgrimage, he, I think, bears the wrong 
name. The other would be said nay, after a little argu- 
mentation (and somewhat else), but this boldfaced Shame 
would never have done. 

CHR. Why, what did he say to you ? 

FAITH. What! why he objected against Religion itself; 
he said it was a pitiful low sneaking business for a man to 
mind Religion; he said that a tender conscience was an 
unmanly thing; and that for a man to watch over his words 


and ways, so as to tie up himself from that hectoring liberty 
that the brave spirits of the times accustom themselves 
unto, would make him the ridicule of the times. He 
objected also, that but few of the Mighty, Rich, or Wise, 
were ever of my opinion; nor any of them neither, before 
they were persuaded to be Fools, and to be of a voluntary 
fondness to venture the loss of all, for nobody else knows 
what. He, moreover, objected the base and low estate and 
condition of those that were chiefly the Pilgrims of the 
times in which they lived: also their ignorance, and want 
of understanding in all Natural Science. Yea, he did hold 
me to it at that rate also, about a great many more things 
than here I relate; as, that it was a shame to sit whining 
and mourning under a Sermon, and a shame to come sighing 
and groaning home; that it was a shame to ask my Neigh- 
bour forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution 
where I had taken from any. He said also that Religion 
made a man grow strange to the great, because of a few 
vices (which he called by finer names), and made him own 
and respect the base because of the same Religious Fra- 
ternity. And is not this, said he, a shame ? 

CHR. And what did you say to him ? 

FAITH. Say! I could not tell what to say at first. Yea, 
he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face; even 
this Shame fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite 
off. But at last I began to consider, That that which is 
highly esteemed among Men is had in abomination with 
God. And I thought again, this Shame tells me what 
men are; but it tells me nothing what God or the Word of 
God is. And I thought, moreover, that at the day of doom, 
we shall not be doomed to death or life according to the 
hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the Wisdom 
and Law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God 
says is best, is best, though all the men in the world are 
against it. Seeing then that God prefers his Religion, 
seeing God prefers a tender Conscience, seeing they that 


make themselves Fools for the Kingdom of Heaven are 
wisest; and that the poor man that loveth Christ is richer 
than the greatest man in the world that hates him: Shame 
depart, thou art an Enemy to my Salvation; shall I enter- 
tain thee against my Sovereign Lord ? How then shall I 
look him in the face at his coming? Should I now be 
ashamed of his ways and Servants, how can I expect the 
blessing? But indeed this Shame was a bold Villain; I 
could scarce shake him out of my company ; yea, he would 
be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in the 
ear, with some one or other of the infirmities that attend 
Religion; but at last I told him, Twas but in vain to 
attempt further in this business; for those things that he 
disdained, in those did I see most glory; and so at last I 
got past this importunate one. And when I had shaken 
him off, then I began to sing: 

The trials that those men do meet withal, 

That are obedient to the Heavenly call, 

Are manifold, and suited to the flesh, 

And come, and come, and come again afresh; 

That now, or some time else, we by them may 

Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 

Oh, let the Pilgrims, let the Pilgrims then, 

Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men. 

CHR. I am glad, my Brother, that thou didst withstand 
this Villain so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think 
he has the wrong name; for he is so bold as to follow us 
in the Streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all 
men; that is, to make us ashamed of that which is good: 
but if he was not himself audacious, he would never attempt 
to do as he does; but let us still resist him; for notwith- 
standing all his bravadoes, he promoteth the Fool and 
none else. The Wise shall inherit glory, said Solomon, but 
shame shall be the promotion of Fools. 

FAITH. I think we must cry to Him for help against 
Shame, that would have us to be valiant for the Truth 
upon the Earth. 


CHR. You say true; but did you meet nobody else in 
that Valley? 

FAITH. No, not I; for I had Sun-shine all the rest of 
the way through that, and also through the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death. 

CHR. Twas well for you; I am sure it fared far other- 
wise with me; I had for a long season, as soon almost as I 
entered into that Valley, a dreadful Combat with that foul 
Fiend Apollyon; yea, I thought verily he would have 
killed me, especially when he got me down and crushed 
me under him, as if he would have crushed me to pieces; 
for as he threw me, my Sword flew out of my hand; nay, 
he told me, He was sure of me : but I cried to God, and he 
heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then I 
entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had 
no light for almost half the way through it. I thought I 
should have been killed there, over and over; but at last 
day brake, and the Sun rose, and I went through that 
which was behind with far more ease and quiet. 

Moreover, I saw in my Dream, that as they went on, 
Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man 
whose name is Talkative, walking at a distance besides 
them (for in this place there was room enough for them 
all to walk). He was a tall man, and something more 
comely at a distance than at hand. To this man Faithful 
addressed himself in this manner. 

FAITH. Friend, whither away? Are you going to the 
Heavenly Country? 

TALK. I am going to that same place. 

FAITH. That is well; then I hope we may have your 
good company. 

TALK. With a very good will will I be your Companion. 

FAITH. Come on then, and let us go together, and let 
us spend our time in discoursing of things that are profitable. 

TALK. To talk of things that are good, to me is very 
acceptable, with you or with any other; and I am glad 

passes through the Valley of the 5haxlu 
of Death . 


that I have met with those that incline to so good a work; 
for to speak the truth, there are but few that care thus 
to spend their time (as they are in their travels), but choose 
much rather to be speaking of things to no profit; and 
this hath been a trouble to me. 

FAITH. That is indeed a thing to be lamented; for 
what things so worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth 
of men on Earth as are the things of the God of Heaven? 

TALK. I like you wonderful well, for your saying is full 
of conviction; and I will add, What thing so pleasant, and 
what so profitable, as to talk of the things of God? What 
things so pleasant? (that is, if a man hath any delight in 
things that are wonderful), for instance, if a man doth 
delight to talk of the History or the Mystery of things; or 
if a man doth love to talk of Miracles, Wonders, or Signs, 
where shall he find things recorded so delightful, and so 
sweetly penned, as in the Holy Scripture? 

FAITH. That's true; but to be profited by such things 
in our talk should be that which we design. 

TALK. That's it that I said; for to talk of such things 
is most profitable; for by so doing, a man may get know- 
ledge of many things; as of the vanity of earthly things, 
and the benefit of things above: (thus in general), but 
more particularly, by this a man may learn the necessity 
of the New-birth, the insufficiency of our works, the need 
of Christ's righteousness, etc. Besides, by this a man may 
learn by talk, what it is to repent, to believe, to pray, to 
suffer, or the like; by this also a man may learn what are 
the great promises and consolations of the Gospel, to his 
own comfort. Further, by this a man may learn to refute 
false opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct 
the ignorant. 

FAITH. All this is true, and glad am I to hear these 
things from you. 

TALK. Alas! the want of this is the cause that so few 
understand the need of faith, and the necessity of a work 


of Grace in their Soul, in order to eternal life ; but ignorantly 
live in the works of the Law, by which a man can by no 
means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven. 

FAITH. But by your leave, Heavenly knowledge of 
these is the gift of God; no man attaineth to them by 
human industry, or only by the talk of them. 

TALK. All this I know very well; for a man can receive 
nothing, except it be given him from Heaven; all is of 
Grace, not of Works : I could give you an hundred Scriptures 
for the confirmation of this. 

FAITH. Well then, said Faithful, what is that one thing 
that we shall at this time found our discourse upon ? 

TALK. What you will: I will talk of things Heavenly, 
or things Earthly; things Moral, or things Evangelical; 
things Sacred, or things Profane; things past, or things 
to come; things foreign, or things at home; things more 
Essential, or things Circumstantial; provided that all be 
done to our profit. 

Now did Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping to 
Christian (for he walked all this while by himself), he said 
to him (but softly), What a brave Companion have we got! 
Surely this man will make a very excellent Pilgrim. 

At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This man 
with whom you are so taken will beguile with this tongue 
of his twenty of them that know him not. 

FAITH. Do you know him then? 

CHR. Know him? Yes, better than he knows him- 

FAITH. Pray what is he ? 

CHR. His name is Talkative; he dwelleth in our Town: 
I wonder that you should be a stranger to him, only I 
consider that our Town is large. 

FAITH. Whose son is he? And whereabout doth he 

CHR. He is the son of one Say-well; he dwelt in Prating 
Row; and is known of all that are acquainted with him 


by the name of Talkative in Prating Row; and notwith- 
standing his fine tongue, he is but a sorry fellow. 

FAITH. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man. 

CHR. That is, to them that have not thorough acquaint- 
ance with him, for he is best abroad, near home he is ugly 
enough: your saying that he is a pretty man, brings to 
my mind what I have observed in the work of the Painter, 
whose Pictures shew best at a distance, but very near 
more unpleasing. 

FAITH. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because 
you smiled. 

CHR. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) 
in this matter, or that I should accuse any falsely; I will 
give you a further discovery of him: This man is for any 
company, and for any talk; as he talketh now with you, 
so will he talk when he is on the Ale-bench; and the more 
drink he hath in his crown, the more of these things he 
hath in his mouth; Religion hath no place in his heart, or 
house, or conversation; all he hath lieth in his tongue, and 
his Religion is to make a noise therewith. 

FAITH. Say you so! Then am I in this man greatly 

CHR. Deceived ! you may be sure of it. Remember the 
Proverb, They say and do not : but the Kingdom of God is 
not in word, but in power. He talketh of Prayer, of Re- 
pentance, of Faith, and of the New-birth ; but he knows but 
only to talk of them. I have been in his Family, and have 
observed him both at home and abroad; and I know what 
I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of Religion 
as the white of an Egg is of savour. There is there neither 
Prayer, nor sign of Repentance for sin; yea, the brute in 
his kind serves God far better than he. He is the very 
stain, reproach, and shame of Religion to all that know 
him; it can hardly have a good word in all that end of 
the Town where he dwells, through him. Thus say the 
common people that know him, A saint abroad, and a 


Devil at home. His poor Family finds it so; he is such a 
churl, such a railer at, and so unreasonable with his Servants, 
that they neither know how to do for, or speak to him. 
Men that have any dealings with him say 'tis better to 
deal with a Turk than with him; for fairer dealing they 
shall have at their hands. This Talkative (if it be possible) 
will go beyond them, defraud, beguile, and over-reach 
them. Besides, he brings up his Sons to follow his steps; 
and if he findeth in any of them a foolish timorousness (for 
so he calls the first appearance of a tender conscience), he 
calls them fools and blockheads, and by no means will 
employ them in much, or speak to their commendations 
before others. For my part I am of opinion, that he has 
by his wicked life caused many to stumble and fall; and 
will be, if God prevent not, the ruin of many more. 

FAITH. Well, my Brother, I am bound to believe you; 
not only because you say you know him, but also because 
like a Christian you make your reports of men. For I 
cannot think that you speak these things of ill-will, but 
because it is even so as you say. 

CHR. Had I known him no more than you, I might 
perhaps have thought of him as at the first you did; yea, 
had he received this report at their hands only that are 
enemies to Religion, I should have thought it had been a 
slander (a lot that often falls from bad men's mouths 
upon good men's names and professions); but all these 
things, yea and a great many more as bad, of my own 
knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men 
are ashamed of him; they can neither call him Brother, 
nor Friend; the very naming of him among them makes 
them blush, if they know him. 

FAITH. Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, 
and hereafter I shall better observe this distinction. 

CHR. They are two things indeed, and are as diverse 
as are the Soul and the Body; for as the Body without the 
Soul is but a dead Carcass, so Saying, if it be alone, is but a 


dead Carcass also. The Soul of Religion is the practick 
part: Pure Religion and undefiled, before God and the 
Father, is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their 
affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world. 
This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks that hearing and 
saying will make a good Christian, and thus he deceiveth 
his own soul. Hearing is but as the sowing of the Seed; 
talking is not sufficient to prove that fruit is indeed in the 
heart and life; and let us assure ourselves, that at the day 
of Doom men shall be judged according to their fruits. It 
will not be said then, Did you believe? but, Were you 
Doers, or Talkers only? and accordingly shall they be 
judged. The end of the world is compared to our Harvest, 
and you know men at Harvest regard nothing but fruit. 
Not that anything can be accepted that is not of Faith; 
but I speak this to shew you how insignificant the profession 
of Talkative will be at that day. 

FAITH. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which 
he describeth the beast that is clean. He is such an one 
that parteth the Hoof and cheweth the Cud: not that 
parteth the Hoof only, or that cheweth the Cud only. The 
Hare cheweth the Cud, but yet is unclean, because he 
parteth not the Hoof. And this truly resembleth Talkative ; 
he cheweth the Cud, he seeketh knowledge, he cheweth upon 
the Word; but he divideth not the Hoof, he parteth not 
with the way of sinners; but as the Hare, he retaineth the 
foot of a Dog, or Bear, and therefore is unclean. 

CHR. You have spoken, for aught I know, the true 
Gospel sense of those Texts: And I will add another thing. 
Paul calleth some men, yea and those great Talkers, too, 
sounding Brass and tinkling Cymbals ; that is, as he expounds 
them in another place, Things without life, giving sound. 
Things without life, that is, without the true Faith and 
Grace of the Gospel; and consequently things that shall 
never be placed in the Kingdom of Heaven among those 



that are the Children of life; though their sound, by their 
talk, be as if it were the tongue or voice of an Angel. 

FAITH. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first, 
but I am as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid of 

CHR. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you shall 
find that he will soon be sick of your company too, except 
God shall touch his heart and turn it. 

FAITH. What would you have me to do ? 

CHR. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious 
discourse about the power of Religion; and ask him plainly 
(when he has approved of it, for that he will) whether this 
thing be set up in his Heart, House, or Conversation. 

FAITH. Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said 
to Talkative, Come, what cheer ? How is it now ? 

TALK. Thank you, well. I thought we should have had 
a great deal of talk by this time. 

FAITH. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and 
since you left it with me to state the question, let it be this : 
How doth the saving Grace of God discover itself, when it 
is in the heart of man ? 

TALK. I perceive then that our talk must be about the 
power of things: Well, 'tis a very good question, and I 
shall be willing to answer you. And take my answer in 
brief thus: First, Where the Grace of God is in the heart, 
it causeth there a great outcry against sin. Secondly 

FAITH. Nay hold, let us consider of one at once : I think 
you should rather say, It shews itself by inclining the soul 
to abhor its sin. 

TALK. Why, what difference is there between crying 
out against, and abhorring of sin ? 

FAITH. Oh! a great deal; A man may cry out against 
sin, of policy; but he cannot abhor it, but by virtue of a 
godly antipathy against it: I have heard many cry out 
against sin in the Pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough 
in the heart, house, and conversation. Joseph's Mistress 


cried out with a loud voice, as if she had been very holy; 
but she would willingly, notwithstanding that, have com- 
mitted uncleanness with him. Some cry out against sin, 
even as the Mother cries out against her Child in her lap, 
when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, and then falls 
to hugging and kissing it. 

TALK. You lie at the catch, I perceive. 

FAITH. No, not I; I am only for setting things right. 
But what is the second thing whereby you would prove 
a discovery of a work of Grace in the heart ? 

TALK. Great knowledge of Gospel Mysteries. 

FAITH. This sign should have been first; but first or 
last, it is also false; for knowledge, great knowledge may 
be obtained in the mysteries of the Gospel, and yet no work 
of Grace in the Soul. Yea, if a man have all knowledge, 
he may yet be nothing, and so consequently be no child 
of God. When Christ said, Do you know all these things? 
and the disciples had answered, Yes; he addeth, Blessed 
are ye if ye do them. He doth not lay the blessing in the 
knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For there is 
a knowledge that is not attended with doing; he that 
knoweth his Master's will, and doeth it not. A man may 
know like an angel, and yet be no Christian; therefore 
your sign of it is not true. Indeed to know is a thing that 
pleaseth Talkers and Boasters; but to do is that which 
pleaseth God. Not that the heart can be good without 
knowledge, for without that the heart is naught. There 
is therefore knowledge and knowledge. Knowledge that 
resteth in the bare speculation of things, and knowledge 
that is accompanied with the Grace of faith and love, which 
puts a man upon doing even the will of God from the heart : 
the first of these will serve the Talker; but without the 
other the true Christian is not content. Give me under- 
standing and I shall keep thy Law; yea I shall observe it 
with my whole heart. 

TALK. You lie at the catch again, this is not for edification. 


FAITH. Well, if you please, propound another sign how 
this work of Grace discovereth itself where it is. 

TALK. Not I, for I see we shall not agree. 

FAITH. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave to 

TALK. You may use your liberty. 

FAITH. A work of Grace in the soul discovereth itself, 
either to him that hath it, or to standers-by. 

To him that hath it, thus: It gives him conviction of 
sin, especially of the defilement of his nature and the sin 
of unbelief (for the sake of which he is sure to be damned, 
if he findeth not mercy at God's hand by faith in Jesus 
Christ). This sight and sense of things worketh in him 
sorrow and shame for sin; he findeth moreover revealed in 
him the Saviour of the world, and the absolute necessity of 
closing with him for life, at the which he findeth hungerings 
and thirstings after him, to which hungerings, etc., the 
promise is made. Now according to the strength or weak- 
ness of his Faith in his Saviour, so is his joy and peace, so 
is his love to holiness, so are his desires to know him more, 
and also to serve him in this World. But though I say 
it discovereth itself thus unto him, yet it is but seldom that 
he is able to conclude that this is a work of Grace ; because 
his corruptions now, and his abused reason, make his mind 
to misjudge in this matter; therefore in him that hath 
this work, there is required a very sound Judgment before 
he can with steadiness conclude that this is a work of 

To others it is thus discovered: 

1. By an experimental confession of his Faith in Christ. 

2. By a life answerable to that confession, to wit, a life 
of holiness; heart-holiness, family-holiness (if he hath a 
Family), and by conversation-holiness in the World: which 
in the general teacheth him inwardly to abhor his sin and 
himself for that in secret, to suppress it in his Family, 
and to promote holiness in the World; not by talk only, 


as an Hypocrite or Talkative person may do, but by a 
practical subjection, in Faith and Love, to the power of the 
Word: And now, Sir, as to this brief description of the 
work of Grace, and also the discovery of it, if you have 
aught to object, object; if not, then give me leave to pro- 
pound to you a second question. 

TALK. Nay, my part is not now to object, but to hear, 
let me therefore have your second question. 

FAITH. It is this. Do you experience the first part of 
this description of it ? and doth your life and conversation 
testify the same? or standeth your religion in Word or 
in Tongue, and not in Deed and Truth? Pray, if you 
incline to answer me in this, say no more than you know 
the God above will say Amen to; and also nothing but 
what your conscience can justify you in; for, not he that 
commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord 
commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus, when 
my Conversation and all my Neighbours tell me I lie, is 
great wickedness. 

TALK. Then Talkative at first began to blush, but 
recovering himself, thus he replied, You come now to 
Experience, to Conscience, and God; and to appeals to 
him for justification of what is spoken: This kind of dis- 
course I did not expect, nor am I disposed to give an answer 
to such questions, because I count not myself bound 
thereto, unless you take upon you to be a Catechiser; and, 
though you should do so, yet I may refuse to make you 
my Judge. But I pray will you tell me why you ask me 
such questions? 

FAITH. Because I saw you forward to talk, and because 
I knew not that you had aught else but notion. Besides, 
to tell you all the truth, I have heard of you that you are 
a man whose Religion lies in talk, and that your conversa- 
tion gives this your Mouth-profession the lie. They say 
you are a spot among Christians, and that religion fareth 
the worse for your ungodly Conversation, that some have 


already stumbled at your wicked ways, and that more 
are in danger of being destroyed thereby; your Religion, 
and an Ale-house, and Covetousness, and Uncleanness, 
and Swearing and Lying, and vain Company-keeping, etc., 
will stand together. The Proverb is true of you which is 
said of a Whore, to wit, That she is a shame to all Women; 
so you are a shame to all Professors. 

TALK. Since you are ready to take up reports, and to 
judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude you are 
some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed 
with; and so adieu. 

CHR. Then came up Christian, and said to his Brother, 
I told you how it would happen; your words and his lusts 
could not agree; he had rather leave your company than 
reform his life. But he is gone, as I said; let him go, the 
loss is no man's but his own, he has saved us the trouble 
of going from him; for he continuing (as I suppose he will 
do) as he is, he would have been but a blot in our company : 
besides, the Apostle says, From such withdraw thyself. 

FAITH. But I am glad we had this little discourse with 
him, it may happen that he will think of it again ; however, 
I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear of his blood, 
if he perisheth. 

CHR. You did well to talk so plainly to him as you did. 
There is but little of this faithful dealing with men now-a- 
days, and that makes Religion so stink in the nostrils of 
many, as it doth; for they are these Talkative Fools whose 
Religion is only in word, and are debauched and vain in 
their Conversation, that (being so much admitted into the 
fellowship of the godly) do stumble the World, blemish 
Christianity, and grieve the sincere. I wish that all men 
would deal with such as you have done: then should they 
either be made more conformable to Religion, or the com- 
pany of Saints would be too hot for them. 

How Talkative at first lifts up his Plumes ! 
How bravely doth he speak ! How ke presumes 


To drive down all before him ! But so soon 
As Faithful talks of Heart-work, like the Moon 
That's past the full, into the wane he goes. 
And so will all but he that Heart-work knows. 

Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by 
the way, and so made that way easy, which would other- 
wise, no doubt, have been tedious to them; for now they 
went through a Wilderness. 

Now when they were got almost quite out of this Wilder- 
ness, Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and espied 
one coming after them, and he knew him. Oh! said 
Faithful to his Brother, Who comes yonder? Then Chris- 
tian looked, and said, It is my good friend Evangelist. Ay, 
and my good friend too, said Faithful, for 'twas he that set 
me in the way to the Gate. Now was Evangelist come up 
unto them, and thus saluted them: 

EVAN. Peace be with you, dearly beloved, and peace 
be to your helpers. 

CHR. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist, the sight 
of thy countenance brings to my remembrance thy ancient 
kindness and unwearied labouring for my eternal good. 

FAITH. And a thousand times welcome, said good 
Faithful: thy company, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable 
is it to us poor Pilgrims ! 

EVAN. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared with you, 
my friends, since the time of our last parting ? What have 
you met with, and how have you behaved yourselves ? 

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that 
had happened to them in the way ; and how, and with what 
difficulty, they had arrived to that place. 

EVAN. Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you 
have met with trials, but that you have been victors; and 
for that you have (notwithstanding many weaknesses) 
continued in the way to this very day. 

I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine 
own sake and yours: I have sowed and you have reaped; 
and the day is coming when both he that sowed and they 


that reaped shall rejoice together; that is, if you hold out: 
for in due time ye shall reap, if you faint not. The Crown 
is before you, and it is an incorruptible one; so run that 
you may obtain it. Some there be that set out for this 
Crown, and after they have gone far for it, another comes 
in, and takes it from them; hold fast therefore that you 
have, let no man take your Crown. You are not yet out 
of the gunshot of the Devil; you have not resisted unto 
blood, striving against sin; let the Kingdom be always 
before you, and believe stedfastly concerning things that 
are invisible. Let nothing that is on this side the other 
world get within you; and above all, look well to your 
own hearts, and to the lusts thereof, for they are deceitful 
above all things, and desperately wicked; set your faces 
like a flint; you have all power in Heaven and Earth on 
your side. 

CHR. Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation, 
but told him withal, that they would have him speak 
further to them for their help the rest of the way, and the 
rather, for that they well knew that he was a Prophet, and 
could tell them of things that might happen unto them, 
and also how they might resist and overcome them. 

To which request Faithful also consented. So Evange- 
list began as followeth: 

EVAN. My Sons, you have heard, in the words of the 
truth of the Gospel, that you must through many tribula- 
tions enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. And again, that 
in every City bonds and afflictions abide you ; and therefore 
you cannot expect that you should go long on your Pil- 
grimage without them, in some sort or other. You have 
found something of the truth of these testimonies upon 
you already, and more will immediately follow; for now, 
as you see you are almost out of this Wilderness, and 
therefore you will soon come into a Town that you will by 
and by see before you; and in that Town you will be 
hardly beset with enemies, who will strain hard but they 


will kill you; and be ye sure that one or both of you must 
seal the testimony which you hold with blood; but be 
you faithful unto death, and the King will give you a 
Crown of life. He that shall die there, although his death 
will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps great, he will yet 
have the better of his fellow; not only because he will be 
arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because he will 
escape many miseries that the other will meet with in the 
rest of his Journey. But when you are come to the Town, 
and shall find fulfilled what I have here related, then remem- 
ber your friend, and quit yourselves like men, and commit 
the keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as 
unto a faithful Creator. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that when they were got out 
of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before them, 
and the name of that town is Vanity; and at the Town 
there is a Fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept all the 
year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because 
the Town where 'tis kept is lighter than Vanity; and also be- 
cause all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is Vanity. 
As is the saying of the wise, All that cometh is Vanity. 

This Fair is no new erected business, but a thing of 
ancient standing; I will shew you the original of it. 

Almost five thousand years agone, there were Pilgrims 
walking to the Celestial City, as these two honest persons 
are; and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with their 
Companions, perceiving by the path that the Pilgrims made, 
that their way to the City lay through this Town of Vanity, 
they contrived here to set up a Fair; a Fair wherein should 
be sold all sorts of Vanity, and that it should last all the 
year long: therefore at this Fair are all such Merchandise 
sold as Houses, Lands, Trades, Places, Honours, Prefer- 
ments, Titles, Countries, Kingdoms, Lusts, Pleasures, and 
Delights of all sorts, as Whores, Bawds, Wives, Husbands, 
Children, Masters, Servants, Lives, Blood, Bodies, Souls, 
Silver, Gold, Pearls, Precious Stones, and what not. 


And moreover, at this Fair there is at all times to be 
seen Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes, Knaves, 
and Rogues, and that of all sorts. 

Here are to be seen, too, and that for nothing, Thefts, 
Murders, Adulteries, False-swearers, and that of a blood- 
red colour. 

And as in other Fairs of less moment, there are the 
several Rows of Streets under their proper names, where 
such and such Wares are vended; so here likewise you have 
the proper Places, Rows, Streets (viz. Countries and King- 
doms) where the Wares of this Fair are soonest to be found : 
Here is the Britain Row, the French Row, the Italian Row, 
the Spanish Row, the German Row, where several sorts of 
Vanities are to be sold. But as in other Fairs, some one 
commodity is as the chief of all the Fair, so the ware of 
Rome and her Merchandise is greatly promoted in this 
Fair; only our English Nation, with some others, have 
taken a dislike thereat. 

Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial City lies just 
through this Town where this lusty Fair is kept; and he 
that will go to the City, and yet not go through this Town, 
must needs go out of the World. The Prince of Princes 
himself, when here, went through this Town to his own 
Country, and that upon a Fair-day too ; yea, and as I think, 
it was Beelzebub, the chief Lord of this Fair, that invited 
him to buy of his Vanities: yea, would have made him 
Lord of the Fair, would he but have done him reverence 
as he went through the Town. Yea, because he was such 
a person of honour, Beelzebub had him from Street to 
Street, and shewed him all the Kingdoms of the World in a 
little time, that he might (if possible) allure that Blessed 
One to cheapen and buy some of his Vanities. But he had 
no mind to the Merchandise, and therefore left the Town, 
without laying out so much as one Farthing upon these 
Vanities. This Fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long 
standing, and a very great Fair. 


Now these Pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through 
this Fair. Well, so they did: but behold, even as they 
entered into the Fair, all the people in the Fair were moved, 
and the Town itself as it were in a hubbub about them; 
and that for several reasons : for 

First, The Pilgrims were clothed with such kind of 
Raiment as was diverse from the Raiment of any that 
traded in that Fair. The people therefore of the Fair 
made a great gazing upon them: some said they were 
Fools, some they were Bedlams, and some they are Out- 

Secondly, And as they wondered at their Apparel, so 
they did likewise at their Speech; for few could understand 
what they said: they naturally spoke the language of 
Canaan, but they that kept the Fair were the men of this 
World ; so that, from one end of the Fair to the other, they 
seemed Barbarians each to the other. 

Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the 
Merchandisers was, that these Pilgrims set very light by 
all their Wares, they cared not so much as to look upon 
them; and if they called upon them to buy, they would 
put their fingers in their ears, and cry, Turn away mine 
eyes from beholding Vanity, and look upwards, signifying 
that their trade and traffic was in Heaven. 

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of the 
men, to say unto them, What will ye buy? But they, 
looking gravely upon him, answered, We buy the Truth. 
At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men 
the more; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking 
reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. 
At last things came to an hubbub and great stir in the 
Fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was 
word presently brought to the Great One of the Fair, who 
quickly came down and deputed some of his most trusty 
friends to take these men into examination, about whom 
the Fair was almost overturned. So the men were brought 


to examination; and they that sat upon them asked them 
whence they came, whither they went, and what they did 
there in such an unusual Garb? The men told them that 
they were Pilgrims and Strangers in the World, and that 
they were going to their own Country, which was the 
Heavenly Jerusalem; and that they had given none occa- 
sion to the .men of the Town, nor yet to the Merchandisers, 
thus to abuse them, and to let them in their Journey, 
except it was for that, when one asked them what they 
would buy, they said they would buy the Truth. But they 
that were appointed to examine them did not believe them 
to be any other than Bedlams and Mad, or else such as came 
to put all things into a confusion in the Fair. Therefore 
they took them and beat them, and besmeared them with 
dirt, and then put them into the Cage, that they might be 
made a spectacle to all the men of the Fair. There, there- 
fore, they lay for some time, and were made the objects of 
any man's sport, or malice, or revenge, the Great One of the 
Fair laughing still at all that befell them. But the men being 
patient, and not rendering railing for railing, but contrary- 
wise blessing, and giving good words for bad, and kindness 
for injuries done, some men in the Fair that were more 
observing, and less prejudiced than the rest, began to check 
and blame the baser sort for their continual abuses done by 
them to the men; they, therefore, in angry manner let fly 
at them again, counting them as bad as the men in the 
Cage, and telling them that they seemed confederates, and 
should be made partakers of their misfortunes. The other 
replied, that for ought they could see, the men were quiet, 
and sober, and intended nobody any harm; and that there 
were many that traded in their Fair that were more worthy 
to be put into the Cage, yea, and Pillory too, than were the 
men that they had abused. Thus, after divers words had 
passed on both sides (the men behaving themselves all the 
while very wisely and soberly before them), they fell to 
some blows among themselves, and did harm one to another. 


Then were these two poor men brought before their examiner 
again, and there charged as being guilty of the late hubbub 
that had been in the Fair. So they beat them pitifully 
and hanged irons upon them, and led them in chains up 
and down the Fair, for an example and a terror to others, 
lest any should further speak in their behalf, or join them- 
selves unto them. But Christian and Faithful behaved 
themselves yet more wisely, and received the ignominy and 
shame that was cast upon them with so much meekness 
and patience that it won to their side (though but few in 
comparison of the rest) several of the men in the Fair. This 
put the other party yet into a greater rage, insomuch that 
they concluded the death of these two men. Wherefore 
they threatened, that the Cage nor irons should serve their 
turn, but that they should die, for the abuse they had 
done, and for deluding the men of the Fair. 

Behold Vanity Fair ; the Pilgrims there 

Are chained and stoned beside; 
Even so it was, our Lord passed here, 

And on Mount Calvary died. 

Then were they remanded to the Cage again, until 
further order should be taken with them. So they put 
them in, and made their feet fast in the Stocks. 

Here also they called again to mind what they had 
heard from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were the 
more confirmed in their way and sufferings, by what he 
told them would happen to them. They also now com- 
forted each other, that whose lot it was to suffer, even he 
should have the best on't; therefore each man secretly 
wished that he might have that preferment: but com- 
mitting themselves to the Allwise disposal of Him that 
ruleth all things, with much content they abode in the 
condition in which they were, until they should be other- 
wise disposed of. 

Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought 
them forth to their Trial, in order to their condemnation. 


When the time was come, they were brought before their 
enemies, and arraigned. The Judge's name was Lord 
Hate-good. Their Indictment was one and the same in 
substance, though somewhat varying in form, the contents 
whereof was this : 

That they were enemies to and disturbers of their 
Trade; that they had made Commotions and Divisions in 
the Town, and had won a party to their own most dan- 
gerous Opinions in contempt of the Law of their Prince. 

Now, Faithful, play the Man, speak for thy God: 
Fear not the wicked's malice, nor their rod : 
Speak boldly, man, the Truth is on thy side; 
Die for it, and to Life in triumph ride. 

Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only set 
himself against that which had set itself against Him that 
is higher than the highest. And said he, as for Disturbance, 
I make none, being myself a man of Peace ; the Party that 
were won to us, were won by beholding our Truth and 
Innocence, and they are only turned from the worse to the 
better. And as to the King you talk of, since he is Beelze- 
bub, the enemy of our Lord, I defy him and all his Angels. 

Then Proclamation was made, that they that had aught 
to say for their Lord the King against the Prisoner at the 
Bar, should forthwith appear and give in their evidence. 
So there came in three witnesses, to wit, Envy, Superstition, 
and Pickthank. They were then asked if they knew the 
Prisoner at the Bar; and what they had to say for their 
Lord the King against him. 

Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect : My Lord, 
I have known this man a long time, and will attest upon 
my Oath before this honourable Bench, that he is 

JUDGE. Hold! Give him his Oath. 

So they sware him. 

Then he said, My Lord, this man, notwithstanding his 
plausible name, is one of the vilest men in our Country. 
He neither regardeth Prince nor People, Law nor Custom; 


but doth all that he can to possess all men with certain of 
his disloyal notions, which he in the general calls Principles 
of Faith and Holiness. And in particular, I heard him 
once myself affirm, That Christianity and the Customs of 
our Town of Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could 
not be reconciled. By which saying, my Lord, he doth at 
once not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in 
the doing of them. 

JUDGE. Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any 
more to say? 

ENVY. My Lord, I could say much more, only I would 
not be tedious to the Court. Yet if need be, when the 
other Gentlemen have given in their Evidence, rather than 
anything shall be wanting that will despatch him, I will 
enlarge my Testimony against him. 

So he was bid stand by. Then they called Superstition, 
and bid him look upon the Prisoner. They also asked, 
what he could say for their Lord the King against him. 
Then they sware him; so he began: 

SUPER. My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with 
this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge of him ; 
however, this I know, that he is a very pestilent fellow, 
from some discourse that the other day I had with him in 
this Town; for then talking with him, I heard him say 
that our Religion was naught, and such by which a man 
could by no means please God. Which sayings of his, 
my Lord, your Lordship very well knows, what necessarily 
thence will follow, to wit, That we still do worship in vain, 
are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned; and this 
is that which I have to say. 

Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he knew 
in behalf of their Lord the King, against the Prisoner at the 

PICK. My Lord, and you, Gentlemen all, This fellow I 
have known of a long time, and have heard him speak 
things that ought not to be spoke; for he hath railed on 


our noble Prince Beelzebub, and hath spoken contemptibly 
of his honourable Friends, whose names are the Lord Old 
Man, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord Luxurious, the 
Lord Desire of Vain-Glory, my old Lord Lechery, Sir Having 
Greedy, with all the rest of our Nobility ; and he hath said, 
moreover, that if all men were of his mind, if possible, 
there is not one of these Noblemen should have any longer 
a being in this Town; besides, he hath not been afraid to 
rail on you, my Lord, who are now appointed to be his 
Judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with many other 
suchlike vilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered 
most of the Gentry of our Town. 

When this Pickthank had told his tale, the Judge 
directed his speech to the Prisoner at the Bar, saying, 
Thou Runagate, Heretic, and Traitor, hast thou heard 
what these honest Gentlemen have witnessed against thee? 

FAITH. May I speak a few words in my own defence ? 

JUDGE. Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservest to live no longer, 
but to be slain immediately upon the place; yet that all 
men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us see what 
thou hast to say. 

FAITH, i. I say then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath 
spoken, I never said aught but this, That what Rule or 
Laws or Custom or People, were flat against the Word of 
God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. If I have 
said amiss in this, convince me of my error, and I am ready 
here before you to make my recantation. 

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his 
charge against me, I said only this, That in the worship of 
God there is required a Divine Faith; but there can be no 
Divine Faith without a Divine Revelation of the will of 
God : therefore whatever is thrust into the Worship of God 
that is not agreeable to a Divine Revelation, cannot be done 
but by a human faith, which faith will not profit to Eternal 

3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoiding 


terms, as that I am said to rail, and the like) that the Prince 
of this Town, with all the rabblement his attendants, by 
this Gentlemen named, are more fit for a being in Hell, 
than in this Town and Country: and so, the Lord have 
mercy upon me. 

Then the Judge called to the Jury (who all this while 
stood by, to hear and observe), Gentlemen of the Jury, you 
see this man about whom so great an uproar hath been 
made in this Town : you have also heard what these worthy 
Gentlemen have witnessed against him; also you have 
heard his reply and confession : It lieth now in your breasts 
to hang him or save his life; but yet I think meet to instruct 
you into our Law. 

There was an Act made in the days of Pharaoh the 
Great, Servant to our Prince, that lest those of a contrary 
Religion should multiply and grow too strong for him, their 
Males should be thrown into the river. There was also 
an Act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, 
another of his servants, that whoever would not fall down 
and worship his Golden Image should be thrown into a 
Fiery Furnace. There was also an Act made in the days of 
Darius, that whoso, for some time, called upon any God 
but him should be cast into the Lions' Den. Now the 
substance of these Laws this Rebel has broken, not only 
in thought (which is not to be borne) but also in word and 
deed; which must therefore needs be intolerable. 

For that of Pharaoh, his Law was made upon a supposi- 
tion to prevent mischief, no Crime being yet apparent; 
but here is a Crime apparent. For the second and third, 
you see he disputeth against our Religion; and for the 
Treason he hath confessed, he deserveth to die the death. 

Then went the Jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blind- 
man, Mr. No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live- 
loose, Mr. Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Lyar, 
Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hate-light, and Mr. Implacable; who 
every one gave in his private Verdict against him among 



themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bring 
him in guilty before the Judge. And first among them- 
selves, Mr. Blind-man, the Foreman, said, I see clearly that 
this man is an Heretic. Then said Mr. No-good, Away 
with such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said Mr. Malice, for 
I hate the very looks of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I 
could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, for 
he would always be condemning my way. Hang him, hang 
him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry Scrub, said Mr. High-mind. 
My heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a 
rogue, said Mr. Lyar. Hanging is too good for him, said 
Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch him out of the way, said 
Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have 
all the world given me, I could not be reconciled to him; 
therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death. 
And so they did; therefore he was presently condemned 
to be had from the place where he was, to the place from 
whence he came, and there to be put to the most cruel 
death that could be invented. 

They therefore brought him out, to do with him accord- 
ing to their Law; and first they Scourged him, then they 
Buffeted him, then they Lanced his flesh with Knives; 
after that they Stoned him with stones, then pricked him 
with their Swords; and last of all they burned him to 
ashes at the Stake. Thus came Faithful to his end. 

Brave Faithful, bravely done in Word and Deed; 
Judge, Witnesses, and Jury have, instead 
Of overcoming thee, but shown their Rage : 
When thou art dead, thou'lt live from Age to Age. 

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a 
Chariot and a couple of Horses, waiting for Faithful, who 
(so soon as his adversaries had despatched him) was taken 
up into it, and straightway was carried up through the 
Clouds, with sound of Trumpet, the nearest way to the 
Celestial Gate. But as for Christian, he had some respite, 
and was remanded back to prison; so he there remained 


for a space: But he that over-rules all things, having the 
power of their rage in his own hand, so wrought it about, 
that Christian for that time escaped them, and went his 
way. And as he went he sang, saying, 

Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profest 
Unto thy Lord ; with him thou shalt be blest, 
When faithless ones, with all their vain delights, 
Are crying out under their hellish plights: 
Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive; 
For though they kill'd thee, thou art yet alive. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that Christian went not forth 
alone, for there was one whose name was Hopeful (being 
made so by the beholding of Christian and Faithful in their 
words and behaviour, in their sufferings at the Fair) who 
joined himself unto him, and entering into a brotherly 
covenant, told him that he would be his Companion. Thus 
one died to make Testimony to the Truth, and another 
rises out of his ashes to be a Companion with Christian hi 
his Pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told Christian, that 
there were many more of the men in the Fair that would 
take their time and follow after. 

So I saw that quickly after they were got out of the 
Fair, they overtook one that was going before them, whose 
name was By-ends: so they said to him, What Country- 
man, Sir? and how far go you this way? He told them 
that he came from the Town of Fair-speech, and he was 
going to the Celestial City (but told them not his name.) 

From Fair-speech, said Christian. Is there any good 
that lives there? 

BY-ENDS. Yes, said By-ends, I hope. 

CHR. Pray, Sir, what may I call you? 

BY-ENDS. I am a Stranger to you, and you to me: if 
you be going this way, I shall be glad of your company; if 
not, I must be content. 

CHR. This Town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have 
heard of it, and, as I remember, they say it's a wealthy 


BY-ENDS. Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have 
very many rich Kindred there. 

CHR. Pray, who are your Kindred there ? if a man may 
be so bold. 

BY-ENDS. Almost the whole Town; and in particular, 
my Lord Turn-about, my Lord Time-server, my Lord 
Fair-speech (from whose ancestors that Town first took 
its name), also Mr. Smooth-man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, 
Mr. Anything; and the Parson of our Parish, Mr. Two- 
tongues, was my Mother's own Brother by Father's side; 
and to tell you the truth, I am a Gentleman of good Quality, 
yet my Great Grandfather was but a Waterman, looking 
one way and rowing another; and I got most of my estate 
by the same occupation. 

CHR. Are you a married man? 

BY-ENDS. Yes, and my Wife is a very virtuous woman, 
the Daughter of a virtuous woman; she was my Lady 
Feigning's Daughter, therefore she came of a very honour- 
able Family, and is arrived to such a pitch of breeding 
that she knows how to carry it to all, even to Prince and 
Peasant. Tis true we somewhat differ in Religion from 
those of the stricter sort, yet but in two small points: 
First, we never strive against Wind and Tide: Secondly, 
we are always most zealous when Religion goes in his 
Silver Slippers; we love much to walk with him in the 
Street, if the Sun shines, and the People applaud him. 

Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow Hope- 
ful, saying, It runs in my mind that this is one By-ends 
of Fair-speech, and if it be he, we have as very a Knave 
in our company as dwelleth in all these parts. Then said 
Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he should not be ashamed 
of his name. So Christian came up with him again, and 
said, Sir, you talk as if you knew something more than 
all the world doth; and if I take not my mark amiss, I 
deem I have half a guess of you: Is not your name Mr. 
By-ends of Fair-speech? 


BY-ENDS. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick- 
name that is given me by some that cannot abide me; 
and I must be content to bear it as a reproach, as other 
good men have borne theirs before me. 

CHR. But did you never give an occasion to men to call 
you by this name ? 

BY-ENDS. Never, never! The worst that ever I did to 
give them an occasion to give me this name was, that I 
had always the luck to jump in my Judgment with the 
present way of the times whatever it was, and my chance 
was to get thereby; but if things are thus cast upon me, 
let me count them a blessing, but let not the malicious 
load me therefore with reproach. 

CHR. I thought indeed that you were the man that I 
heard of, and to tell you what I think, I fear this name 
belongs to you more properly than you are willing we 
should think it doth. 

BY-ENDS. Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help 
it; you shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will 
still admit me your associate. 

CHR. If you will go with us, you must go against Wind 
and Tide, the which, I perceive, is against your opinion; 
you must also own Religion in his Rags, as well as when in 
his Silver Slippers, and stand by him, too, when bound in 
Irons, as well as when he walketh the Streets with applause. 

BY-ENDS. You must not impose, nor lord it over my 
Faith; leave me to my liberty, and let me go with you. 

CHR. Not a step farther, unless you will do in what I 
propound as we. 

Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old Prin- 
ciples, since they are harmless and profitable. If I may 
not go with you, I must do as I did before you overtook me, 
even go by myself, until some overtake me that will be 
glad of my company. 

Now I saw in my Dream that Christian and Hopeful 
forsook him, and kept their distance before him; but one 


of them looking back, saw three men following Mr. By-ends, 
and behold, as they came up with him, he made them a 
very low congee, and they also gave him a compliment. 
The men's names were Mr. Hold-the- World, Mr. Money- 
love, and Mr. Save-all ; men that Mr. By-ends had formerly 
been acquainted with; for in their minority they were 
School-fellows, and were taught by one Mr. Gripe-man, a 
School-master in Love-gain, which is a Market-town in the 
County of Coveting, in the North. This School-master 
taught them the Art of Getting either by violence, cozenage, 
flattery, lying, or by putting on a guise of Religion; and 
these four Gentlemen had attained much of the Art of their 
Master, so that they could each of them have kept such a 
School themselves. 

Well when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, 
Mr. Money-love said to Mr. By-ends, Who are they upon 
the Road before us? For Christian and Hopeful were yet 
within view. 

BY-ENDS. They are a couple of far countrymen, that 
after their mode are going on Pilgrimage. 

MONEY-LOVE. Alas! Why did they not stay, that we 
might have had their good company? for they, and we, 
and you, Sir, I hope, are all going on Pilgrimage. 

BY-ENDS. We are so indeed; but the men before us are 
so rigid, and love so much their own notions, and do also 
so lightly esteem the opinions of others, that let a man be 
never so godly, yet if he jumps not with them in all things, 
they thrust him quite out of their company. 

SAVE-ALL. That's bad; but we read of some that are 
righteous overmuch; and such men's rigidness prevails 
with them to judge and condemn all but themselves. But 
I pray what, and how many, were the things wherein you 

BY-ENDS. Why, they after their head-strong manner 
conclude that it is duty to rush on their Journey all weathers, 
and I am for waiting for Wind and Tide. They are for 


hazarding all for God at a clap, and I am for taking all 
advantages to secure my Life and Estate. They are for 
holding their notions, though all other men are against 
them; but I am for Religion in what, and so far as, the 
times and my safety will bear it. They are for Religion 
when in Rags and Contempt; but I am for him when he 
walks in his Golden Slippers in the Sunshine, and with 

HOLD-THE- WORLD. Ay, and hold you there still, good 
Mr. By-ends; for, for my part, I can count him but a Fool, 
that having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so 
unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise as Serpents; 'tis best 
to make hay when the Sun shines; you see how the Bee 
lieth still all winter, and bestirs her only when she can have 
Profit and Pleasure. God sends sometimes Rain, and 
sometimes Sunshine; if they be such fools to go through 
the first, yet let us be content to take fair weather along 
with us. For my part I like that Religion best that will 
stand with the security of God's good blessings unto us; 
for who can imagine that is ruled by his Reason, since God 
has bestowed upon us the good things of this Life, but that 
he would have us keep them for his sake? Abraham and 
Solomon grew rich in Religion. And Job says, that a good 
man shall lay up gold as Dust. But he must not be such 
as the men before us, if they be as you have described them. 

SAVE-ALL. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, 
and therefore there needs no more words about it. 

MONEY-LOVE. No, there needs no more words about 
this matter indeed; for he that believes neither Scripture 
nor Reason (and you see we have both on our side) neither 
knows his own liberty, nor seeks his own safety. 

BY-ENDS. My Brethren, we are, as you see, going all on 
Pilgrimage; and for our better diversion from things that 
are bad, give me leave to propound unto you this question : 

Suppose a man, a Minister, or a Tradesman, etc., should 
have an advantage lie before him to get the good blessings 


of this life, yet so as that he can by no means come by them, 
except, in appearance at least, he becomes extraordinary 
zealous in some points of Religion that he meddled not 
with before; may he not use this means to attain his end, 
and yet be a right honest man ? 

MONEY-LOVE. I see the bottom of your question, and, 
with these Gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to 
shape you an answer. And first, to speak to your question 
as it concerns a Minister himself: Suppose a Minister, a 
worthy man, possess'd but of a very small benefice, and 
has in his eye a greater, more fat and plump by far; he 
has also now an opportunity of getting of it, yet so as by 
being more studious, by preaching more frequently and 
zealously, and because the temper of the people requires it, 
by altering of some of his Principles; for my part I see no 
reason but a man may do this (provided he has a Call), ay, 
and more a great deal besides, and yet be an honest man. 
For why? 

1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful (this cannot 
be contradicted), since 'tis set before him by Providence; 
so then he may get it if he can, making no question for 
Conscience' sake. 

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him 
more studious, a more zealous Preacher, etc., and so makes 
him a better man; yea makes him better improve his 
parts, which is according to the Mind of God. 

3. Now as for his complying with the temper of his 
people, by dissenting, to serve them, some of his Principles, 
this argueth, i. That he is of a self-denying temper; 2. Of 
a sweet and winning deportment ; 3. And so more fit for the 
Ministerial function. 

4. I conclude then, that a Minister that changes a small 
for a great, should not for so doing be judged as covetous; 
but rather, since he has improved in his parts and industry 
thereby, be counted as one that pursues his Call, and the 
opportunity put into his hand to do Good. 


And now to the second part of the question, which 
concerns the Tradesman you mentioned. Suppose such an 
one to have but a poor employ in the world, but, by becoming 
Religious, he may mend his Market, perhaps get a rich 
Wife, or more and far better Customers to his Shop; for 
my part I see no reason but this may be lawfully done. 
For why? 

1. To become Religious is a Virtue, by what means 
soever a man becomes so. 

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich Wife, or more custom 
to my Shop. 

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming re- 
ligious, gets that which is good, of them that are good, by 
becoming good himself; so then here is a good Wife, and 
good Customers, and good Gain, and all these by becoming 
religious, which is good: therefore, to become religious to 
get all these is a good and profitable design. 

This answer thus made by this Mr. Money-love to 
Mr. By-ends' question was highly applauded by them all; 
wherefore they concluded upon the whole that it was most 
wholesome and advantageous. And because, as they 
thought, no man was able to contradict it, and because 
Christian and Hopeful were yet within call, they jointly 
agreed to assault them with the question as soon as they 
overtook them, and the rather because they had opposed 
Mr. By-ends before. So they called after them, and they 
stopped, and stood still till they came up to them ; but they 
concluded as they went that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr. 
Hold-the-World, should propound the question to them, 
because, as they supposed, their answer to him would be 
without the remainder of that heat that was kindled betwixt 
Mr. By-ends and them at their parting a little before. 

So they came up to each other, and after a short salu- 
tation, Mr. Hold-the-World propounded the question to 
Christian and his fellow, and bid them to answer it if they 


CHR. Then said Christian, Even a babe in Religion may 
answer ten thousand such questions. For if it be unlawful to 
follow Christ for loaves, as it is (John vi.), how much more 
abominable is it to make of him and Religion a Stalking- 
horse to get and enjoy the world. Nor do we find any other 
than Heathens, Hypocrites, Devils, and Witches, that are 
of this opinion. 

1. Heathens; for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind 
to the Daughter and Cattle of Jacob, and saw that there 
was no way for them to come at them but by becoming 
circumcised, they said to their companions, If every male 
of us be circumcised, as they are circumcised, shall not their 
Cattle, and their substance, and every beast of theirs, be 
ours? Their Daughter and their Cattle were that which 
they sought to obtain, and their Religion the Stalking- 
horse they made use of to come at them. Read the whole 
story, Gen. xxxiv. 20-23. 

2. The Hypocritical Pharisees were also of this Religion; 
Long Prayers were their Pretence, but to get widows' houses 
was their Intent; and greater damnation was from God 
their Judgment, Luke xx. 46, 47. 

3. Judas the Devil was also of this Religion; he was 
religious for the Bag, that he might be possessed of what 
was therein; but he was lost, cast away, and the very Son 
of Perdition. 

4. Simon the Witch was of this Religion too; for he 
would have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have got 
Money therewith, and his sentence from Peter's mouth was 
according, Acts viii. 19-22. 

5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man 
that takes up Religion for the World will throw away 
Religion for the World; for so surely as Judas designed the 
World in becoming religious, so surely did he also sell 
Religion and his Master for the same. To answer the ques- 
tion therefore affirmatively, as I perceive you have done, 
and to accept of as authentic such answer, is . both 

DEMAS 107 

Heathenish, Hypocritical, and Devilish, and your Reward 
will be according to your Works. Then they stood staring 
one upon another, but had not wherewith to answer Chris- 
tian. Hopeful also approved of the soundness of Christian's 
answer; so there was a great Silence among them. Mr. 
By-ends and his company also staggered and kept behind, 
that Christian and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said 
Christian to his fellow, If these men cannot stand before the 
sentence of men, what will they do with the sentence of 
God? And if they are mute when dealt with by vessels of 
Clay, what will they do when they shall be rebuked by the 
flames of a devouring Fire ? 

Then Christian and Hopeful out-went them, and went 
till they came at a delicate Plain called Ease, where they 
went with much content ; but that Plain was but narrow, so 
they were quickly got over it. Now at the farther side of 
that Plain was a little Hill called Lucre, and in that Hill a 
Silver-Mine, which some of them that had formerly gone 
that way, because of the rarity of it, had turned aside to 
see; but going too near the brink of the pit, the ground 
being deceitful under them broke, and they were slain; 
some also had been maimed there, and could not to their 
dying day be their own men again. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that a little off the road, over 
against the Silver-Mine, stood Demas (gentleman-like) to 
call to Passengers to come and see; who said to Christian 
and his fellow, Ho, turn aside hither, and I will shew you 
a thing. 

CHR. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the 

DEMAS. Here is a Silver-Mine, and some digging in it 
for Treasure. If you will come, with a little pains you may 
richly provide for yourselves. 

HOPE. Then said Hopeful, Let us go see;. 

CHR. Not I, said Christian; I have heard of this place 
before now, and how many have there been slain; and 


besides, that Treasure is a snare to those that seek it, for 
it hindereth them in their Pilgrimage. Then Christian called 
to Demas, saying, Is not the place dangerous? Hath it 
not hindered many in their Pilgrimage? 

DEMAS. Not very dangerous, except to those that are 
careless: but withal he blushed as he spake. 

CHR. Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir a 
step, but still keep on our way. 

HOPE. I will warrant you when By-ends comes up, if 
he hath the same invitation as we, he will turn in thither to 

CHR. No doubt thereof, for his Principles lead him that 
way, and a hundred to one but he dies there. 

DEMAS. Then Demas called again, saying, But will you 
not come over and see ? 

CHR. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, Demas, 
thou art an Enemy to the right ways of the Lord of this way, 
and hast been already condemned for thine own turning 
aside, by one of his Majesty's Judges; and why seekest 
thou to bring us into the like condemnation? Besides, if 
we at all turn aside, our Lord the King will certainly hear 
thereof, and will there put us to shame, where we would 
stand with boldness before him. 

Demas cried again, that he also was one of their 
fraternity; and that, if they would tarry a little, he also 
himself would walk with them. 

CHR. Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it 
not it by the which I have called thee ? 

DEMAS. Yes, my name is Demas, I am the son of 

CHR. I know you, Gehazi was your Great Grandfather, 
and Judas your Father, and you have trod in their steps. 
It is but a devilish prank that thou usest; thy Father was 
hanged for a Traitor, and thou deservest no better reward. 
Assure thyself, that when we come to the King we will do 
him word of this thy behaviour. Thus they went their way. 

[emember Hot 5 wife 


By this time By-ends and his Companions were come 
again within sight, and they at the first beck went over to 
Demas. Now whether they fell into the Pit by looking 
over the brink thereof, or whether they went down to dig, 
or whether they were smothered in the bottom by the 
damps that commonly arise, of these things I am not 
certain; but this I observed, that they never were seen 
again in the way. Then sang Christian, 

By -ends and Silver Demas both agree; 
One calls, the other runs, that he may be 
A sharer in his Lucre; so these two 
Take up in this World, and no farther go. 

Now I saw that, just on the other side of this Plain, the 
Pilgrims came to a place where stood an old Monument, 
hard by the Highway side, at the sight of which they were 
both concerned, because of the strangeness of the form 
thereof; for it seemed to them as if it had been a Woman 
transformed into the shape of a Pillar; here therefore they 
stood looking upon it, but could not for a time tell what 
they should make thereof. At last Hopeful espied written 
above upon the head thereof, a writing in an unusual hand; 
but he being no Scholar, called to Christian (for he was 
learned) to see if he could pick out the meaning; so he 
came, and after a little laying of letters together, he found 
the same to be this, Remember Lot's Wife. So he read it 
to his fellow; after which they both concluded that that 
was the Pillar of Salt into which Lot's Wife was turned, 
for her looking back with a covetous heart, when she was 
going from Sodom for safety. Which sudden and amazing 
sight gave them occasion of this discourse. 

CHR. Ah, my Brother, this is a seasonable sight; it 
came opportunely to us after the invitation which Demas 
gave us to come over to view the Hill Lucre; and had we 
gone over as he desired us, and as thou wast inclining to do, 
my Brother, we had, for aught I know, been made ourselves 


like this woman, a spectacle for those that shall come after 
to behold. 

HOPE. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made 
to wonder that I am not now as Lot's Wife; for wherein 
was the difference 'twixt her sin and mine ? she only looked 
back, and I had a desire to go see. Let Grace be adored, 
and let me be ashamed that ever such a thing should be in 
mine heart. 

CHR. Let us take notice of what we see here, for our 
help for time to come: This woman escaped one Judgment, 
for she fell not by the destruction of Sodom; yet she was 
destroyed by another, as we see she is turned into a Pillar 
of Salt. 

HOPE. True, and she may be to us both Caution and 
Example; Caution that we should shun her sin, or a sign 
of what Judgment will overtake such as shall not be pre- 
vented by this caution. So Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, 
with the two hundred and fifty men that perished in their 
sin, did also become a sign or example to others to beware. 
But above all, I muse at one thing, to wit, how Demas and 
his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to look for that 
treasure, which this Woman, but for looking behind her after 
(for we read not that she stepped one foot out of the way), 
was turned into a pillar of salt; especially since the Judg- 
ment which overtook her did make her an example within 
sight of where they are; for they cannot choose but see her, 
did they but lift up their eyes. 

CHR. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth 
that their hearts are grown desperate in the case; and I 
cannot tell who to compare them to so fitly, as to them that 
pick pockets in the presence of the Judge, or that will cut 
purses under the Gallows. It is said of the men of Sodom 
that they were sinners exceedingly, because they were 
sinners before the Lord; that is, in his eyesight, and not- 
withstanding the kindnesses that he had shewed them; 
for the land of Sodom was now like the Garden of Eden 


heretofore. This therefore provoked him the more to 
jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the fire of the 
Lord out of Heaven could make it. And it is most rationally 
to be concluded that such, even such as these are, that shall 
sin in the sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples 
that are set continually before them to caution them to the 
contrary, must be partakers of severest Judgments. 

HOPE. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a 
mercy is it, that neither thou, but especially I, am not made 
myself this example : this ministereth occasion to us to thank 
God, to fear before him, and always to remember Lot's Wife. 

I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant 
River, which David the King called the River of God, but 
John the River of the Water of Life. Now their way lay 
just upon the bank of the River; here therefore Christian 
and his Companion walked with great delight ; they drank 
also of the water of the River, which was pleasant and 
enlivening to their weary spirits: besides, on the banks of 
this River, on either side, were green Trees that bore all 
manner of Fruit; and the Leaves of the Trees were good 
for Medicine; with the Fruit of these Trees they were also 
much delighted; and the Leaves they ate to prevent Sur- 
feits and other Diseases that are incident to those that heat 
their blood by Travels. On either side of the River was 
also a Meadow, curiously beautified with Lilies; and it was 
green all the year long. In this Meadow they lay down 
and slept, for here they might lie down safely. When they 
awoke, they gathered again of the Fruit of the Trees, and 
drank again of the water of the River; and then lay down 
again to sleep. Thus they did several days and nights. 
Then they sang, 

Behold ye how these Crystal streams do glide 

(To comfort Pilgrims) by the Highway side; 

The Meadows green, beside their fragrant smell, 

Yield dainties for them : And he that can tell 

What pleasant Fruit, yea Leaves, these Trees do yield, 

Will soon sell all, that he may buy this Field. 


So when they were disposed to go on (for they were not 
as yet as their Journey's end) they ate and drank, and 

Now I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed 
far, but the River and the way for a time parted; at which 
they were not a little sorry, yet they durst not go out of the 
way. Now the way from the River was rough, and their 
feet tender by reason of their Travels; so the soul of the 
Pilgrims was much discouraged because of the way. Where- 
fore, still as they went on, they wished for better way. Now 
a little before them, there was on the left hand of the road 
a Meadow, and a Stile to go over into it, and that Meadow 
is called By-path Meadow. Then said Christian to his 
fellow, If this Meadow lieth along by our wayside, let's go 
over into it. Then he went to the Stile to see, and behold 
a Path lay along by the way on the other side of the fence. 
Tis according to my wish, said Christian, here is the easiest 
going; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over. 

HOPE. But how if this Path should lead us out of the 

CHR. That's not like, said the other; look, doth it not 
go along by the wayside? So Hopeful, being persuaded 
by his fellow, went after him over the Stile. When they 
were gone over, and were got into the Path, they found it 
very easy for their feet: and withal, they looking before 
them espied a man walking as they did (and his name was 
Vain-confidence), so they called after him, and asked him 
whither that way led? He said, To the Celestial Gate. 
Look, said Christian, did I not tell you so? by this you 
may see we are right. So they followed, and he went before 
them. But behold the night came on, and it grew very 
dark, so that they that were behind lost the sight of him 
that went before. 

The Pilgrims now, to gratify the Flesh, 
Will seek its Ease; but oh! how they afresh 
Do thereby plunge themselves new Grief into ! 
Who seek to please the Flesh, themselves undo. 


He, therefore, that went before (Vain-confidence by 
name), not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep Pit, 
which was on purpose there made by the Prince of those 
grounds to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed 
in pieces with his fall. 

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they 
called to know the matter, but there was none to answer, 
only they heard a groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where 
are we now? Then was his fellow silent, as mistrusting 
that he had led him out of the way; and now it began to 
rain, and thunder, and lighten in a very dreadful manner, 
and the water rose amain. 

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh that I had 
kept on my way ! 

CHR. Who could have thought that this Path should 
have led us out of the way? 

HOPE. I was afraid on't at the very first, and therefore 
gave you that gentle caution. I would have spoke plainer, 
but that you are older than I. 

CHR. Good Brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have 
brought thee out of the way, and that I have put thee into 
such imminent danger; pray, my Brother, forgive me, I did 
not do it of an evil intent. 

HOPE. Be comforted, my Brother, for I forgive thee; 
and believe too that this shall be for our good. 

CHR. I am glad I have with me a merciful Brother; 
but we must not stand thus, let's try to go back again. 

HOPE. But, good Brother, let me go before. 

CHR. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there be 
any danger, I may be first therein, because by my means 
we are both gone out of the way. 

HOPE. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first, for your 
mind being troubled may lead you out of the way again. 
Then for their encouragement, they heard the voice of one 
saying, Let thine heart be towards the Highway, even the 
way that thou wentest, turn again. But by this time the 



waters were greatly risen, by reason of which the way of 
going back was very dangerous. (Then I thought that it is 
easier going out of the way when we are in, than going in 
when we are out.) Yet they adventured to go back; but 
it was so dark, and the flood was so high, that in their going 
back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten times. 

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again 
to the Stile that night. Wherefore at last, lighting under a 
little shelter, they sat down there till the day brake; but 
being weary they fell asleep. Now there was not far from 
the place where they lay, a Castle called Doubting Castle, 
the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it was in his 
grounds they now were sleeping: wherefore he, getting up 
in the morning early, and walking up and down in his fields, 
caught Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then 
with a grim and surly voice he bid them awake, and asked 
them whence they were ? and what they did hi his grounds ? 
They told him they were Pilgrims, and that they had lost 
their way. Then said the Giant, You have this night 
trespassed on me, by trampling in and lying on my grounds, 
and therefore you must go along with me. So they were 
forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They 
also had but little to say, for they knew themselves in a 
fault. The Giant therefore drove them before him, and put 
them into his Castle into a very dark Dungeon, nasty and 
stinking to the spirits of these two men. Here then they 
lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, without 
one bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or any to ask how 
they did; they were therefore here in evil case, and were 
far from friends and acquaintance. Now in this place 
Christian had double sorrow, because 'twas through his un- 
advised haste that they were brought into this distress. 

Now Giant Despair had a Wife, and her name was 
Diffidence. So when he was gone to bed, he told his Wife 
what he had done, to wit, that he had taken a couple of 
Prisoners and cast them into his Dungeon for trespassing on 

|hristian and jPiopeful under the power 
of Giant Qe.spair. 


his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best do 
further to them. So she asked him what they were, whence 
they came, and whither they were bound; and he told her. 
Then she counselled him that when he arose in the morning 
he should beat them without any mercy. So when he 
arose, he getteth him a grievous Crab-tree Cudgel, and goes 
down into the Dungeon to them, and there first falls to 
rating of them as if they were dogs, although they gave him 
never a word of distaste. Then he falls upon them, and 
beats them fearfully, in such sort that they were not able 
to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. This 
done, he withdraws and leaves them there to condole their 
misery, and to mourn under their distress: so all that day 
they spent the time in nothing but sighs and bitter lamenta- 
tions. The next night she talking with her Husband about 
them further, and understanding that they were yet alive, 
did advise him to counsel them to make away themselves. 
So when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly 
manner as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with 
the stripes that he had given them the day before, he told 
them that, since they were never like to come out of that 
place, their only way would be forthwith to make an end 
of themselves, either with Knife, Halter, or Poison. For 
why, said he, should you choose life, seeing it is attended 
with so much bitterness? But they desired him to let 
them go. With that he looked ugly upon them, and rush- 
ing to them had doubtless made an end of them himself, 
but that he fell into one of his Fits (for he sometimes in 
Sunshiny weather fell into Fits) and lost for a time the use 
of Ijis hand; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as 
before, to consider what to do. Then did the Prisoners 
consult between themselves, whether 'twas best to take 
his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse: 

CHR. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The 
life that we now live is miserable: for my part I know not 
whether it is best to live thus, or to die out of hand. My soul 


chooseth strangling rather than life, and the Grave is more 
easy for me than this Dungeon. Shall we be ruled by the 

HOPE. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, and 
death would be far more welcome to me than thus for ever 
to abide; but yet let us consider, the Lord of the Country 
to which we are going hath said, Thou shalt do no murder, 
no not to another man's person; much more then are we 
forbidden to take his counsel to kill ourselves. Besides, he 
that kills another can but commit murder upon his body; 
but for one to kill himself is to kill body and soul at once. 
And, moreover, my Brother, thou talkest of ease in the 
Grave; but hast thou forgotten the Hell whither for 
certain the murderers go? For no murderer hath eternal 
life, etc. And let us consider again, that all the Law is 
not in the hand of Giant Despair. Others, so far as I can 
understand, have been taken by him as well as we, and yet 
have escaped out of his hand. Who knows but that God 
that made the world may cause that Giant Despair may die ? 
or that at some time or other he may forget to lock us in? 
or but he may in short time have another of his Fits before 
us, and may lose the use of his limbs ? and if ever that should 
come to pass again, for my part I am resolved to pluck up 
the heart of a man, and to try my utmost to get from under 
his hand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it before; 
but, however, my Brother, let's be patient, and endure a 
while ; the time may come that may give us a happy release ; 
but let us not be our own murderers. With these words 
Hopeful at present did moderate the mind of his Brother; 
so they continued together (in the dark) that day, in their 
sad and doleful condition. 

Well, towards evening the Giant goes down into the 
Dungeon again, to see if his Prisoners had taken his counsel; 
but when he came there he found them alive, and truly, 
alive was all; for now, what for want of Bread and Water, 
and by reason of the Wounds they received when he beat 


them, they could do little but breathe: but, I say, he 
found them alive; at which he fell into a grievous rage, and 
told them that seeing they had disobeyed his counsel, it 
should be worse with them than if they had never been 

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian 
fell into a Swoon; but coming a little to himself again, they 
renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel, and 
whether yet they had best to take it or no. Now Christian 
again seemed to be for doing it, but Hopeful made his 
second reply as followeth: 

HOPE. My Brother, said he, rememberest thou not how 
valiant thou hast been heretofore? Apollyon could not 
crush thee, nor could all that thou didst hear, or see, or feel 
in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What hardship, 
terror, and amazement hast thou already gone through, 
and art thou now nothing but fear? Thou seest that I am 
in the Dungeon with thee, a far weaker man by nature than 
thou art; also this Giant has wounded me as well as thee, 
and hath also cut off the Bread and Water from my mouth; 
and with thee I mourn without the light. But let's exer- 
cise a little more patience; remember how thou playedst 
the man at Vanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the 
Chain, nor Cage, nor yet of bloody Death: wherefore let us 
(at least to avoid the shame that becomes not a Christian 
to be found in) bear up with patience as well as we can. 

Now night being come again, and the Giant and his 
Wife being in bed, she asked him concerning the Prisoners, 
and if they had taken his counsel: To which he replied, 
They are sturdy Rogues, they choose rather to bear all 
hardship than to make away themselves. Then said she, 
Take them into the Castle-yard to-morrow, and shew them 
the Bones and Skulls of those that thou hast already 
despatch'd, and make them believe, ere a week comes to 
an end, thou also wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast 
done their fellows before them. 


So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them 
again, and takes them into the Castle-yard and shews them 
as his Wife had bidden him. These, said he, were Pilgrims 
as you are, once, and they trespassed in my grounds, as you 
have done; and when I thought fit, I tore them in pieces, 
and so within ten days I will do you. Go get you down 
to your Den again; and with that he beat them all the 
way thither. They lay therefore all day on Saturday in a 
lamentable case, as before. Now when night was come, and 
when Mrs. Diffidence and her Husband the Giant were got 
to bed they began to renew their discourse of their Prisoners ; 
and withal the old Giant wondered that he could neither by 
his blows nor counsel bring them to an end. And with 
that his Wife replied, I fear, said she, that they live in hope 
that some will come to relieve them, or that they have 
pick-locks about them, by the means of which they hope 
to escape. And sayest thou so, my dear? said the Giant. 
I will therefore search them in the morning. 

Well on Saturday about midnight they began to pray, 
and continued in Prayer till almost break of day. 

Now a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half 
amazed, brake out in this passionate speech: What a fool, 
quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinking Dungeon, when I 
may as well walk at liberty. I have a Key in my bosom 
called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any Lock 
in Doubting Castle. Then said Hopeful, That's good news; 
good Brother, pluck it out of thy bosom and try. 

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to 
try at the Dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the Key) 
gave back, and the door flew open with ease, and Christian 
and Hopeful both came out. Then he went to the outward 
door that leads into the Castle-yard, and with his Key 
opened that door also. After he went to the iron Gate, for 
that must be opened too, but that Lock went damnable 
hard, yet the Key did open it. Then they thrust open the 
Gate to make their escape with speed, but that Gate as it 


opened made such a creaking that it waked Giant Despair, 
who hastily rising to pursue his Prisoners, felt his limbs to 
fail, for his Fits took him again, so that he could by no 
means go after them. Then they went on, and came to 
the King's Highway again, and so were safe, because they 
were out of his Jurisdiction. 

Now when they were gone over the Stile, they began 
to contrive with themselves what they should do at that 
Stile to prevent those that should come after from falling 
into the hands of Giant Despair. So they consented to erect 
there a Pillar, and to engrave upon the side thereof this 
sentence, Over this Stile is the way to Doubting Castle, 
which is kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King 
of the Celestial Country, and seeks to destroy his holy 
Pilgrims. Many, therefore, that followed after read what 
was written, and escaped the danger. This done, they 
sang as follows: 

Out of the way we went, and then we found 

What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground; 

And let them that come after have a care, 

Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to fare. 

Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are, 

Whose Castle's Doubting, and whose name's Despair. 

They went then till they came to the Delectable Moun- 
tains, which Mountains belong to the Lord of that Hill of 
which we have spoken before; so they went up to the 
Mountains, to behold the Gardens and Orchards, the Vine- 
yards and Fountains of water; where also they drank, and 
washed themselves, and did freely eat of the Vineyards. 
Now there were on the tops of these Mountains Shepherds 
feeding their flocks, and they stood by the Highway side. 
The Pilgrims therefore went to them, and leaning upon 
their staves (as is common with weary Pilgrims, when they 
stand to talk with any by the way), they asked, Whose 
Delectable Mountains are these ? And whose be the sheep 
that feed upon them? 

SHEP. These mountains are Immanuel's Land, and 


they are within sight of his City; and the sheep also are 
his, and he laid down his life for them. 

Mountains Delectable they now ascend, 
Where Shepherds be, which to them do commend 
Alluring things, and things that Cautions are, 
Pilgrims are steady kept by Faith and Fear. 

CHR. Is this the way to the Celestial City ? 

SHEP. You are just in your way. 

CHR. How far is it thither? 

SHEP. Too far for any but those that shall get thither 

CHR. Is the way safe or dangerous ? 

SHEP. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe, but trans- 
gressors shall fall therein. 

CHR. Is there in this place any relief for Pilgrims that 
are weary and faint in the way ? 

SHEP. The Lord of these Mountains hath given us a 
charge not to be forgetful to entertain strangers; there- 
fore the good of the place is even before you. 

I saw also in my Dream, that when the Shepherds 
perceived that they were wayfaring men, they also put 
questions to them (to which they made answer as in other 
places), as, Whence came you? and, How got you into the 
way ? and, By what means have you so persevered therein ? 
For but few of them that begin to come hither do shew their 
face on these Mountains. But when the Shepherds heard 
their answers, being pleased therewith, they looked very 
lovingly upon them, and said, Welcome to the Delectable 

The Shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, 
Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the hand, 
and had them to their Tents, and made them partake of 
that which was ready at present. They said, moreover, 
We would that ye should stay here a while, to be acquainted 
with us, and yet more, to solace yourselves with the good 
of these Delectable Mountains. They then told them, that 

Si he Shephera* take Christian and Hopeful }/_< 

/o m 

:' "to the top of the Hill of Error. 


they were content to stay; and so they went to their rest 
that night, because it was very late. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that in the morning the 
Shepherds called up Christian and Hopeful to walk with 
them upon the Mountains; so they went forth with them, 
and walked a while, having a pleasant prospect on every 
side. Then said the Shepherds one to another, Shall we 
shew these Pilgrims some wonders ? So when they had con- 
cluded to do it, they had them first to the top of a Hill called 
Error, which was very steep on the farthest side, and bid 
them look down to the bottom. So Christian and Hopeful 
looked down, and saw at the bottom several men dashed all 
to pieces by a fall that they had from the top. Then said 
Christian, What meaneth this? The Shepherds answered, 
Have you not heard of them that were made to err, by 
hearkening to Hymeneus and Philetus, as concerning the 
Faith of the Resurrection of the Body? They answered, 
Yes. Then said the Shepherds, Those that you see lie 
dashed in pieces at the bottom of this Mountain are they; 
and they have continued to this day unburied (as you see) 
for an example to others to take heed how they clamber too 
high, or how they come too near the brink of this Mountain. 

Then I saw that they had them to the top of another 
Mountain, and the name of that is Caution, and bid them 
look afar off; which when they did, they perceived, as they 
thought, several men walking up and down among the 
Tombs that were there; and they perceived that the men 
were blind, because they stumbled sometimes upon the 
Tombs, and because they could not get out from among 
them. Then said Christian, What means this ? 

The Shepherds then answered, Did you not see a little 
below these Mountains a Stile that led into a Meadow, on 
the left hand of this way? They answered, Yes. Then 
said the Shepherds, From that Stile there goes a path that 
leads directly to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant 
Despair; and these men (pointing to them among the 


Tombs) came once on Pilgrimage, as you do now, even till 
they came to that same Stile; and because the right way 
was rough in that place, they chose to go out of it into that 
Meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair, and cast 
into Doubting Castle; where, after they had been awhile 
kept in the Dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and 
led them among those Tombs, where he has left them to 
wander to this very day, that the saying of the Wise Man 
might be fulfilled, He that wandereth out of the way of 
understanding, shall remain in the congregation of the dead. 
Then Christian and Hopeful looked one upon another, with 
tears gushing out, but yet said nothing to the Shepherds. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that the Shepherds had them 
to another place, in a bottom, where was a door in the side 
of an Hill; and they opened the door, and bid them look in. 
They looked in, therefore, and saw that within it was very 
dark and smoky; they also thought that they heard there 
a rumbling noise as of Fire, and a cry of some tormented, 
and that they smelt the scent of Brimstone. Then said 
Christian, What means this? The Shepherds told them, 
This is a by-way to Hell, a way that Hypocrites go in at; 
namely, such as sell their Birthright, with Esau; such as 
sell their Master, with Judas; such as blaspheme the Gospel, 
with Alexander; and that lie and dissemble, with Ananias 
and Sapphira his Wife. 

Then said Hopeful to the Shepherds, I perceive that 
these had on them, even every one, a shew of Pilgrimage, 
as we have now; had they not? 

SHEP. Yes, and held it a long time too. 

HOPE. How far might they go on in Pilgrimage in their 
day, since they notwithstanding were thus miserably cast 

SHEP. Some farther, and some not so far as these 

Then said the Pilgrims one to another, We had need cry 
to the Strong for strength. 


SHEP. Ay, and you will have need to use it when you 
have it too. 

By this time the Pilgrims had a desire to go forwards, 
and the Shepherds a desire they should; so they walked 
together towards the end of the Mountains. Then said 
the Shepherds one to another, Let us here shew to the 
Pilgrims the Gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill 
to look through our Perspective Glass. The Pilgrims then 
lovingly accepted the motion; so they had them to the top 
of an high Hill, called Clear, and gave them their Glass to 

Then they essayed to look, but the remembrance of 
that last thing that the Shepherds had shewed them made 
their hands shake, by means of which impediment they could 
not look steadily through the Glass ; yet they thought they 
saw something like the Gate, and also some of the Glory of 
the place. Then they went away and sang this song, 

Thus by the Shepherds Secrets are reveal'd, 
Which from all other men are kept conceal'd: 
Come to the Shepherds, then, if you would see 
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be. 

When they were about to depart, one of the Shepherds 
gave them a Note of the way. Another of them bid them 
beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them .take heed 
that they sleep not on the Enchanted Ground. And the 
fourth bid them God-speed. So I awoke from my Dream. 

And I slept, and Dreamed again, and saw the same two 
Pilgrims going down the Mountains along the Highway 
towards the City. Now a little below these Mountains, on 
the left hand, h'eth the Country of Conceit; from which 
Country there comes into the way in which the Pilgrims 
walked a little crooked Lane. Here, therefore, they met 
with a very brisk Lad, that came out of that Country; 
and his name was Ignorance. So Christian asked him 
from what parts he came and whither he was going. 

IGNOR. Sir, I was born in the Country that lieth off 


there, a little on the left hand, and I am going to the Celestial 

CHR. But how do you think to get in at the Gate, for 
you may find some difficulty there? 

IGNOR. As other good people do, said he. 

CHR. But what have you to shew at that Gate, that 
may cause that the Gate should be opened to you? 

IGNOR. I know my Lord's will, and I have been a good 
liver; I pay every man his own; I Pray, Fast, pay Tithes, 
and give Alms, and have left my Country for whither I am 

CHR. But thou earnest not in at the Wicket-Gate that 
is at the head of this way; thou earnest in hither through 
that same crooked Lane, and, therefore, I fear, however thou 
mayest think of thyself, when the reckoning day shall come, 
thou wilt have laid to thy charge that thou art a Thief and 
a Robber, instead of getting admittance into the City. 

IGNOR. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know 
you not; be content to follow the Religion of your Country, 
and I will follow the Religion of mine. I hope all will be 
well. And as for the Gate that you talk of, all the world 
knows that that is a great way off of our Country. I 
cannot think that any man in all our parts doth so much as 
know the way to it, nor need they matter whether they do 
or no, since we have, as you see, a fine pleasant Green Lane, 
that comes down from our Country the next way into the 

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his own 
conceit, he said to Hopeful whisperingly, There is more hopes 
of a fool than of him. And said, moreover, When he that is 
a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he 
saith to every one that he is a fool. What, shall we talk 
further with him, or outgo him at present, and so leave him 
to think of what he hath heard already, and then stop again 
for him afterwards, and see if by degrees we can do any 
good of him ? Then said Hopeful, 


Let Ignorance a little while now muse 
On what is said, and let him not refuse 
Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain 
Still ignorant of what's the chief est gain. 
God saith. Those that no understanding have 
(Although he made them) them he will not save. 

HOPE. He further added, It is not good, I think, to say 
all to him at once ; let us pass him by, if you will, and talk 
to him anon, even as he is able to bear it. 

So they both went on, and Ignorance he came after. 
Now when they had passed him a little way, they entered 
into a very dark Lane, where they met a man whom seven 
Devils had bound with seven strong cords, and were carrying 
of him back to the Door that they saw in the side of the 
Hill. Now good Christian began to tremble, and so did 
Hopeful his Companion; yet as the Devils led away the 
man, Christian looked to see if he knew him, and he thought 
it might be one Turn-away that dwelt in the Town of 
Apostacy. But he did not perfectly see his face, for he did 
hang his head like a Thief that is found. But being gone 
past, Hopeful looked after him, and espied on his back a 
paper with this inscription, Wanton Professor and damnable 
Apostate. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now I call to 
remembrance that which was told me of a thing that 
happened to a good man hereabout. The name of the 
man was Little-faith, but a good man, and he dwelt in the 
Town of Sincere. The thing was this: At the entering in 
of this passage, there comes down from Broad-way Gate, a 
Lane called Dead Man's Lane; so called because of the 
Murders that are commonly done there; and this Little- 
faith, going on Pilgrimage as we do now, chanced to sit down 
there and slept. Now there happened at that time to come 
down the Lane from Broad-way Gate, three sturdy Rogues, 
and their names were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt 
(three Brothers), and they espying Little-faith where he 
was, came galloping up with speed. Now the good man 
was just awaked from his sleep, and was getting up to go on 


his Journey. So they came all up to him, and with threaten- 
ing language bid him stand. At this Little-faith looked as 
white as a Clout, and had neither power to fight nor fly. 
Then said Faint-heart, Deliver thy Purse. But he making 
no haste to do it (for he was loth to lose his Money), Mistrust 
ran up to him, and thrusting his hand into his Pocket, 
pulled out thence a bag of Silver. Then he cried out, 
Thieves, Thieves. With that Guilt, with a great Club that 
was in his hand, struck Little-faith on the head, and with 
that blow fell'd him flat to the ground, where he lay bleed- 
ing as one that would bleed to death. All this while the 
Thieves stood by. But at last, they hearing that some 
were upon the road, and fearing lest it should be one Great- 
grace that dwells in the City of Good-confidence, they 
betook themselves to their heels, and left this good man to 
shift for himself. Now after a while Little-faith came to 
himself, and getting up made shift to scrabble on his way. 
This was the story. 

HOPE. But did they take from him all that ever he had? 

CHR. No; the place where his Jewels were they never 
ransacked, so those he kept still; but as I was told, the good 
man was much afflicted for his loss, for the Thieves got most 
of his spending Money. That which they got not (as I 
said) were Jewels, also he had a little odd Money left, but 
scarce enough to bring him to his Journey's end; nay, if I 
was not misinformed, he was forced to beg as he went, to 
keep himself alive, for his Jewels he might not sell. But 
beg, and do what he could, he went (as we say) with many 
a hungry belly the most part of the rest of the way. 

HOPE. But is it not a wonder they got not from him 
his Certificate, by which he was to receive his admittance at 
the Celestial Gate? 

CHR. Tis a wonder but they got not that, though they 
missed it not through any good cunning of his; for he being 
dismayed with their coming upon him, had neither power 
nor skill to hide anything ; so 'twas more by good Providence 


than by his endeavour that they missed of that good 

HOPE. But it must needs be a comfort to him that they 
got not this Jewel from him. 

CHR. It might have been great comfort to him, had he 
used it as he should; but they that told me the story said 
that he made but little use of it all the rest of the way, and 
that because of the dismay that he had in their taking 
away of his Money; indeed he forgot it a great part of the 
rest of his Journey; and, besides, when at any time it came 
into his mind, and he began to be comforted therewith, then 
would fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon him, and 
those thoughts would swallow up all. 

HOPE. Alas, poor man ! This could not but be a great 
grief unto him. 

CHR. Grief ! ay, a grief indeed. Would it not have been 
so to any of us, had we been used as he, to be robbed, and 
wounded too, and that in a strange place, as he was ? Tis 
a wonder he did not die with grief, poor heart ! I was told 
that he scattered almost all the rest of the way with nothing 
but doleful and bitter complaints; telling also to all that 
overtook him, or that he overtook in the way as he went, 
where he was robbed, and how; who they were that did it, 
and what he lost ; how he was wounded, and that he hardly 
escaped with life. 

HOPE. But 'tis a wonder that his necessities did not put 
him upon selling or pawning some of his Jewels, that he 
might have wherewith to relieve himself in his Journey. 

CHR. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is the Shell 
to this very day; for what should he pawn them, or to 
whom should he sell them? In all that Country where he 
was robbed, his Jewels were not accounted of; nor did he 
want that relief which could from thence be administered to 
him. Besides, had his Jewels been missing at the Gate of 
the Celestial City, he had (and that he knew well enough) 
been excluded from an Inheritance there; and that would 


have been worse to him than the appearance and villainy 
of ten thousand Thieves. 

HOPE. Why art thou so tart, my Brother? Esau sold 
his Birthright, and that for a mess of Pottage, and that 
Birthright was his greatest Jewel; and if he, why might 
not Little-faith do so too ? 

CHR. Esau did sell his Birthright indeed, and so do 
many besides, and by so doing exclude themselves from 
the chief blessing, as also that caitiff did; but you must 
put a difference betwixt Esau and Little-faith, and also 
betwixt their Estates. Esau's Birthright was typical, but 
Little-faith's Jewels were not so: Esau's belly was his god, 
but Little-faith's belly was not so: Esau's want lay in his 
fleshly appetite, Little-faith's did not so. Besides, Esau 
could see no farther than to the fulfilling of his lusts: For 
I am at the point to die, said he, and what good will this 
Birthright do me ? But Little-faith, though it was his lot 
to have but a little faith, was by his little faith kept from 
such extravagancies, and made to see and prize his Jewels 
more than to sell them, as Esau did his Birthright. You 
read not anywhere that Esau had faith, no not so much as 
a little; therefore no marvel if where the flesh only bears 
sway (as it will in that man where no faith is to resist) if he 
sells his Birthright, and his Soul and all, and that to the 
Devil of Hell ; for it is with such, as it is with the ass, who 
in her occasions cannot be turned away. When their minds 
are set upon their lusts, they will have them whatever they 
cost. But Little-faith was of another temper, his mind was 
on things Divine; his livelihood was upon things that were 
Spiritual, and from above; therefore to what end should 
he that is of such a temper sell his Jewels (had there been 
any that would have bought them) to fill his mind with 
empty things? Will a man give a penny to fill his belly 
with Hay ? or can you persuade the Turtle-dove to li ve upon 
Carrion like the Crow? Though faithless ones can, for 
carnal Lusts, pawn or mortgage, or sell what they have, and 


themselves outright to boot; yet they that have faith, 
saving faith, though but a little of it, cannot do so f Here, 
therefore, my Brother, is thy mistake. 

HOPE. I acknowledge it; but yet your severe reflection 
had almost made me angry. 

CHR. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the Birds 
that are of the brisker sort, who will run to and fro in 
trodden paths, with the Shell upon their heads; but pass 
by that, and consider the matter under debate, and all shall 
be well betwixt thee and me. 

HOPE. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am per- 
suaded in my heart, are but a company of Cowards; would 
they have run else, think you, as they did, at the noise of 
one that was coming on the road? Why did not Little- 
faith pluck up a great heart? He might, methinks, have 
stood one brush with them, and have yielded when there 
had been no remedy. 

CHR. That they are Cowards, many have said, but few 
have found it so in the time of Trial. As for a great heart, 
Little-faith had none ; and I perceive by thee, my Brother, 
hadst thou been the man concerned, thou art but for a 
brush, and then to yield. And verily since this is the height 
of thy stomach, now they are at a distance from us, should 
they appear to thee as they did to him, they might put thee 
to second thoughts. 

But consider again, they are but journeymen Thieves; 
they serve under the King of the bottomless Pit, who, if 
need be, will come to their aid himself, and his voice is as 
the roaring of a Lion. I myself have been engaged as this 
Little-faith was, and I found it a terrible thing. These 
three Villains set upon me, and I beginning like a Christian 
to resist, they gave but a call, and in came their Master: 
I would, as the saying is, have given my life for a penny; 
but that, as God would have it, I was clothed with Armour 
of proof. Ay, and yet though I was so harnessed, I found 
it hard work to quit myself like a man: no man can tell 



what in that Combat attends us, but he that hath been in 
the Battle himself. 

HOPE. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but 
suppose that one Great-grace was in the way. 

CHR. True, they have often fled, both they and their 
Master, when Great-grace hath but appeared; and no 
marvel, for he is the King's Champion. But I trow you 
will put some difference between Little-faith and the King's 
Champion. All the King's Subjects are not his Champions, 
nor can they, when tried, do such feats of War as he. Is 
it meet to think that a little child should handle Goliath as 
David did ? Or that there should be the strength of an Ox 
in a Wren? Some are strong, some are weak; some have 
great faith, some have little : this man was one of the weak, 
and therefore he went to the wall. 

HOPE. I would it had been Great-grace for their sakes. 

CHR. If it had been he, he might have had his hands 
full; for I must tell you, that though Great-grace is excellent 
good at his Weapons, and has, and can, so long as he keeps 
them at Sword's point, do well enough with them; yet if 
they get within him, even Faint-heart, Mistrust, or the 
other, it shall go hard but they will throw up his heels. And 
when a man is down, you know what can he do? 

Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face, shall see those 
scars and cuts there, that shall easily give demonstration 
of what I say. Yea, once I heard he should say (and that 
when he was in the Combat), We despaired even of life. 
How did these sturdy Rogues and their fellows make David 
groan, mourn, and roar? Yea, Heman and Hezekiah too. 
though Champions in their day, were forced to bestir them 
when by these assaulted; and yet notwithstanding they 
had their Coats soundly brushed by them. Peter upon a 
time would go try what he could do; but though some do 
say of him that he is the Prince of the Apostles, they handled 
him so, that they made him at last afraid of a sorry Girl. 
Besides their King is at their whistle, he is never out of 


hearing; and if at any time they be put to the worst, he if 
possible comes in to help them; and of him it is said, The 
Sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold the Spear, the 
Dart, nor the Habergeon: he esteemeth Iron as Straw, and 
Brass as rotten Wood. The Arrow cannot make him fly; 
Sling-stones are turned with him into Stubble, Darts are 
counted as Stubble: he laugheth at the shaking of a Spear. 
What can a man do in this case ? 'Tis true, if a man could 
at every turn have Job's Horse, and had skill and courage 
to ride him, he might do notable things; for his Neck is 
clothed with thunder, he will not be afraid of the Grass- 
hopper, the glory of his Nostrils is terrible, he paweth in the 
Valley, rejoiceth in his strength, and goeth out to meet the 
armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, 
neither turneth back from the Sword. The Quiver rattleth 
against him, the glittering Spear, and the Shield. He 
swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage, neither 
believeth he that it is the sound of the Trumpet. He saith 
among the Trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the Battle 
afar off, the thundering of the Captains, and the Shoutings. 

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never 
desire to meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could do 
better, when we hear of others that they have been foiled, 
nor be tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood; for 
such commonly come by the worst when tried. Witness 
Peter, of whom I made mention before. He would swagger, 
ay, he would; he would, as his vain mind prompted him to 
say, do better, and stand more for his Master than all 
men; but who so foiled and run down by these Villains 
as he? 

When, therefore, we hear that such Robberies are done 
on the King's Highway, two things become us to do : First, 
To go out harnessed and to be sure to take a Shield with us; 
for it was for want of that, that he that laid so lustily at 
Leviathan could not make him yield; for indeed if that be 
wanting he fears us not at all. Therefore he that had skill 


hath said, Above all take the Shield of faith, wherewith ye 
shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. 

Tis good also that we desire of the King a Convoy, yea 
that he will go with us himself. This made David rejoice 
when in the Valley of the Shadow of Death : and Moses was 
rather for dying where he stood, than to go one step without 
his God. Oh, my Brother, if he will but go along with us 
what need we be afraid of ten thousands that shall set 
themselves against us ? But without him, the proud helpers 
fall under the slain. 

I, for my part, have been in the fray before now, and 
though (through the goodness of him that is best) I am, as 
you see, alive; yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad 
shall I be, if I meet with no more such brunts, though I fear 
we are not got beyond all danger. However, since the 
Lion and the Bear have not as yet devoured me, I hope 
God will also deliver us from the next uncircumcised 
Philistine. Then sang Christian, 

Poor Little-faith ! Hast been among the Thieves ? 
Wast robb'd ? Remember this : Whoso believes 
And gets more Faith, shall then a victor be 
Over ten thousand, else scarce over three. 

So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They went then 
till they came at a place where they saw a way put itself into 
their way, and seemed withal to lie as straight as the way 
which they should go ; and here they knew not which of the 
two to take, for both seemed straight before them; there- 
fore here they stood still to consider. And as they were 
thinking about the way, behold a man black of flesh, but 
covered with a very light Robe, came to them, and asked 
them why they stood there? They answered they were 
going to the Celestial City, but knew not which of these 
ways to take. Follow me, said the man, it is thither that I 
am going. So they followed him in the way that but now 
came into the road, which by degrees turned, and turned 
then so from the City that they desired to go to, that in 


little time their faces were turned away from it: yet they 
followed him. But by-and-by, before they were aware, he 
led them both within the compass of a Net, in which they 
were both so entangled, that they knew not what to do ; and 
with that the white Robe fell off the ttack man's back: then 
they saw where they were. Wherefore there they lay crying 
some time, for they could not get themselves out. 

CHR. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see 
myself in an error. Did not the Shepherds bid us beware 
of the flatterers? As is the saying of the Wise man, so we 
have found it this day, A man that flattereth his Neighbour, 
spreadeth a Net for his feet. 

HOPE. They also gave us a Note of directions about the 
way, for our more sure finding thereof; but therein we have 
also forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the 
paths of the destroyer. Here David was wiser than we; 
for saith he, Concerning the works of men, by the word of 
thy lips I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer. 
Thus they lay bewailing themselves in the Net. At last they 
espied a Shining One coming towards them with a Whip of 
small cord in his hand. When he was come to the place 
where they were, he asked them whence they came? and 
what they did there? They told him that they were poor 
Pilgrims going to Zion, but were led out of their way by a 
black man, clothed in white, who bid us, said they, follow 
him, for he was going thither too. Then said he with the 
Whip, It is Flatterer, a false Apostle, that hath transformed 
himself into an Angel of Light. So he rent the Net, and let 
the men out. Then said he to them, Follow me, that I may 
set you in your way again : so he led them back to the way 
which they had left to follow the Flatterer. Then he asked 
them, saying, Where did you lie the last night ? They said, 
With the Shepherds upon the Delectable Mountains. He 
asked them then, If they had not of those Shepherds a Note 
of direction for the way? They answered, Yes. But did 
you, said he, when you was at a stand, pluck out and read 


your Note? They answered, No. He asked them, Why? 
They said they forgot. He asked, moreover, If the Shep- 
herds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer? They 
answered, Yes; but we did not imagine, said they, that this 
fine-spoken man had been he. 

Then I saw in my Dream that he commanded them to 
lie down; which when they did, he chastised them sore, to 
teach them the good way wherein they should walk; and 
as he chastised them he said, As many as I love, I rebuke 
and chasten; be zealous, therefore, and repent. This done, 
he bid them go on their way, and take good heed to the 
other directions of the Shepherds. So they thanked him 
for all his kindness, and went softly along the right way, 

Come hither, you that walk along the way, 
See how the Pilgrims fare that go astray; 
They catched are in an intangling Net, 
'Cause they good Counsel lightly did forget; 
'Tis true they rescu'd were, but yet you see 
They're scourg'd to boot: Let this your caution be 

Now after a while, they perceived afar off one coming 
softly and alone all along the Highway to meet them. Then 
said Christian to his fellow, Yonder is a man with his back 
toward Zion, and he is coming to meet us. 

HOPE. I see him, let us take heed to ourselves now, lest 
he should prove a Flatterer also. So he drew nearer and 
nearer, and at last came up unto them. His name was 
Atheist, and he asked them whither they were going ? 

CHR. We are going to the Mount Zion. 

Then Atheist fell into a very great Laughter. 

CHR. What is the meaning of your Laughter ? 

ATHEIST. I laugh to see what ignorant persons you are, 
to take upon you so tedious a Journey, and you are like to 
have nothing but your travel for your pains. 

CHR. Why man? Do you think we shall not be 
received ? 


ATHEIST. Received! There is no such place as you 
dream of in all this World. 

CHR. But there is in the World to come. 

ATHEIST. When I was at home in mine own Country, I 
heard as you now affirm, and from that hearing went out to 
see, and have been seeking this City this twenty years; but 
find no more of it than I did the first day I set out. 

CHR. We have both heard and believe that there is 
such a place to be found. 

ATHEIST. Had not I when at home believed, I had not 
come thus far to seek; but finding none (and yet I should, 
had there been such a place to be found, for I have gone to 
seek it farther than you), I am going back again, and will 
seek to refresh myself with the things that I then cast away, 
for hopes of that which I now see is not. 

CHR. Then said Christian to Hopeful his fellow, Is it 
true which this man hath said ? 

HOPE. Take heed, he is one of the Flatterers; remember 
what it hath cost us once already for our hearkening to such 
kind of fellows. What! no Mount Zion! Did we not see 
from the Delectable Mountains the Gate of the City ? Also, 
are we not now to walk by Faith ? Let us go on, said Hope- 
ful, lest the man with the Whip overtake us again. You 
should have taught me that lesson, which I will round you 
in the ears withal: Cease, my Son, to hear the instruction 
that causeth to err from the words of knowledge. I say, my 
Brother, cease to hear him, and let us believe to the saving of 
the Soul. 

CHR. My Brother, I did not put the question to thee 
for that I doubted of the Truth of our belief myself, but to 
prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of 
thy heart. As for this man, I know that he is bunded by 
the god of this World. Let thee and I go on, knowing 
that we have belief of the Truth, and no lie is of the 

HOPE. Now do I rejoice in hope of the Glory of God. 


So they turned away from the man; and he laughing at 
them went his way. ,v . 

I saw them in my Dream, that they went till they came 
into a certain Country, whose air naturally tended to make 
one drowsy, if he came a stranger into it. And here Hope- 
ful began to be very dull and heavy of sleep ; wherefore he 
said unto Christian, I do now begin to grow so drowsy that 
I can scarcely hold up mine eyes, let us lie down here and 
take one nap. 

CHR. By no means, said the other, lest sleeping we 
never awake more. 

HOPE. Why, my Brother? Sleep is sweet to the 
labouring man ; we may be refreshed if we take a nap. 

CHR. Do you not remember that one of the Shepherds 
bid us beware of the Enchanted Ground ? He meant by that, 
that we should beware of sleeping; wherefore let us not 
sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober. 

HOPE. I acknowledge myself in a fault, and had I been 
here alone I had by sleeping run the danger of death. I see 
it is true that the Wise man saith, Two are better than one. 
Hitherto hath thy company been my mercy, and thou shalt 
have a good reward for thy labour. 

Now then, said Christian, to prevent drowsiness in this 
place, let us fall into good discourse. 

HOPE. With all my heart, said the other. 

CHR. Where shall we begin? 

HOPE. Where God began with us. But do you begin, if 
you please. 

When Saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither, 
And hear how these two Pilgrims talk together: 
Yea, let them learn of them, in any wise, 
Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumbering eyes. 
Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 
Keeps them awake, and that in spite of Hell. 

CHR. Then Christian began and said, I will ask you a 
question: How came you to think at first of doing as you 
do now? 


HOPE. Do you mean, how came I at first to look after 
the good of my soul ? 

CHR. Yes, that is my meaning. 

HOPE. I continued a great while in the delight of those 
things which were seen and sold at our Fair; things which 
I believe now would have (had I continued in them still) 
drowned me in perdition and destruction. 

CHR. What things were they? 

HOPE. All the Treasures and Riches of the World. Also 
I delighted much in Rioting, Revelling, Drinking, Swear- 
ing, Lying, Uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and what not, 
that tended to destroy the Soul. But I found at last, 
by hearing and considering of things that are Divine, 
which indeed I heard of you, as also of beloved Faithful, 
that was put to death for his faith and good living in 
Vanity Fair, That the end of these things is death. And 
that for these things' sake the wrath of God cometh upon 
the children of disobedience. 

CHR. And did you presently fall under the power of this 
conviction ? 

HOPE. No, I was not willing presently to know the evil 
of sin, nor the damnation that follows upon the commission 
of it; but endeavoured, when my mind at first began to 
be shaken with the Word, to shut mine eyes against the light 

CHR. But what was the cause of your carrying of it 
thus to the first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon 

HOPE. The causes were: I. I was ignorant that this 
was the work of God upon me. I never thought that by 
awakenings for sin God at first begins the conversion of a 
sinner. 2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was 
loth to leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part with mine 
old Companions, their presence and actions were so desirable 
unto me. 4. The hours in which convictions were upon me, 
were such troublesome and such heart-affrighting hours, 


that I could not bear, no not so much as the remembrance of 
them upon my heart. 

CHR. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your 

HOPE. Yes, verily, but it would come into my mind 
again, and then I should be as bad, nay worse, than I was 

CHR. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind 

HOPE. Many things; as, 

1. If I did but meet a good man in the Streets; or, 

2. If I have heard any read in the Bible; or, 

3. If mine Head did begin to ache; or, 

4. If I were told that some of my Neighbours were sick; 

5. If I heard the Bell toll for some that were dead; or, 

6. If I thought of Dying myself; or, 

7. If I heard that sudden Death happened to others; 

8. But especially, when I thought of myself, that I must 
quickly come to Judgment. 

CHR. And could you at any time with ease get off the 
guilt of sin, when by any of these ways it came upon you ? 

HOPE. No, not latterly, for then they got faster hold of 
my conscience; and then, if I did but think of going back 
to sin (though my mind was turned against it), it would be 
double torment to me. 

CHR. And how did you do then? 

HOPE. I thought I must endeavour to mend my life; 
for else, thought I, I am sure to be damned. 

CHR. And did you endeavour to mend ? 

HOPE. Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but sinful 
Company too; and betook me to religious duties, as Prayer, 
Reading, Weeping for Sin, speaking Truth to my Neigh- 
bours, etc. These things did I, with many others, too 
much here to relate. 

CHR. And did you think yourself well then ? 


HOPE. Yes, for a while; but at the last my trouble came 
tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck of all my 

CHR. How came that about, since you were now 
reformed ? 

HOPE. There were several things brought it upon me, 
especially such sayings as these: All our righteousnesses 
are as filthy rags. By the works of the Law no man shall 
be justified. When you have done all things, say, We are 
unprofitable: with many more the like. From whence I 
began to reason with myself thus: If all my righteousnesses 
are filthy rags, if by the deeds of the Law no man can be 
justified; and if, when we have done all, we are yet unprofit- 
able, then 'tis but a folly to think of Heaven by the Law. I 
further thought thus: If a man runs an 100 into the Shop- 
keeper's debt, and after that shall pay for all that he shall 
fetch; yet his old debt stands still in the Book uncrossed, 
for the which the Shopkeeper may sue him, and cast him 
into Prison till he shall pay the debt. 

CHR. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? 

HOPE. Why, I thought thus with myself: I have by my 
sins run a great way into God's Book, and that my now 
reforming will not pay off that score; therefore I should 
think still under all my present amendments, But how shall 
I be freed from that damnation that I have brought myself 
in danger of by my former transgressions ? 

CHR. A very good application: but pray go on. 

HOPE. Another thing that hath troubled me, even since 
my late amendments, is, that if I look narrowly into the best 
of what I do now, I still see sin, new sin, mixing itself with 
the best of that I do ; so that now I am forced to conclude, 
that notwithstanding my former fond conceits of myself and 
duties, I have committed sin enough in one day to send 
me to Hell, though my former life had been faultless. 

CHR. And what did you do then ? 

HOPE. Do ! I could not tell what to do, till I brake my 


mind to Faithful, for he and I were well acquainted. And 
he told me, that unless I could obtain the righteousness of a 
man that never had sinned, neither mine own, nor all the 
righteousness of the World could save me. 

CHR. And did you think he spake true ? 

HOPE. Had he told me so when I was pleased and 
satisfied with mine own amendments, I had called him 
Fool for his pains : but now, since I see mine own infirmity, 
and the sin that cleaves to my best performance, I have been 
forced to be of his opinion. 

CHR. But did you think, when at first he suggested it to 
you, that there was such a man to be found, of whom it 
might justly be said, That he never committed sin? 

HOPE. I must confess the words at first sounded 
strangely; but after a little more talk and company with 
him, I had full conviction about it. 

CHR. And did you ask him what man this was, and how 
you must be justified by him? 

HOPE. Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that 
dwelleth on the right hand of the Most High. And thus, 
said he, you must be justified by him, even by trusting to 
what he hath done by himself in the days of his flesh, and 
suffered when he did hang on the Tree. I asked him further, 
How that man's righteousness could be of that efficacy to 
justify another before God? And he told me he was the 
mighty God, and did what he did, and died the death 
also, not for himself, but for me; to whom his doings, and 
the worthiness of them should be imputed, if I believed 
on him. 

CHR. And what did you do then? 

HOPE. I made my objections against my believing, for 
that I thought he was not willing to save me. 

CHR. And what said Faithful to you then ? 

HOPE. He bid me go to him and see : then I said it was 
presumption: but he said, No, for I was invited to come. 
Then he gave me a Book of Jesus his inditing, to encourage 



me the more freely to come; and he said concerning that 
Book, that every jot and tittle thereof stood firmer than 
Heaven and Earth. Then I asked him, What I must do 
when I came? and he told me, I must entreat upon my 
knees, with all my heart and soul, the Father to reveal him 
to me. Then I asked him further, How I must make my 
supplication to him ? And he said, Go, and thou shalt find 
him upon a mercy-seat, where he sits all the year long, to 
give pardon and forgiveness to them that come. I told him 
that I knew not what to say when I came. And he bid me 
say to this effect : God be merciful to me a sinner, and make 
me to know and believe hi Jesus Christ; for I see that if his 
righteousness had not been, or I have not faith in that 
righteousness, I am utterly cast away: Lord, I have heard 
that thou art a merciful God, and hast ordained that thy 
Son Jesus Christ should be the Saviour of the World; and, 
moreover, that thou art willing to bestow him upon such a 
poor sinner as I am (and I am a sinner indeed) ; Lord, take 
therefore this opportunity, and magnify thy grace in the 
Salvation of my soul, through thy Son Jesus Christ. Amen. 

CHR. And did you do as you were bidden ? 

HOPE. Yes, over and over and over. 

CHR. And did the Father reveal his Son to you? 

HOPE. Not at the first, nor second, nor third, nor fourth, 
nor fifth, no nor at the sixth time neither. 

CHR. What did you do then ? 

HOPE. What ! why I could not tell what to do. 

CHR. Had you not thoughts of leaving off praying? 

HOPE. Yes, an hundred times twice told. 

CHR. And what was the reason you did not ? 

HOPE. I believed that that was true which had been 
told me, to wit, that without the righteousness of this Christ 
all the World could not save me ; and, therefore, thought I 
with myself, If I leave off, I die, and I can but die at the 
Throne of Grace. And withal, this came into my mind, If it 
tarry, wait for it, because it will surely come, it will not 


tarry. So I continued praying until the Father shewed me 
his Son. 

CHR. And how was he revealed unto you ? 

HOPE. I did not see him with my bodily eyes, but with 
the eyes of mine understanding; and thus it was : One day 
I was very sad, I think sadder than at any one time in my 
life, and this sadness was through a fresh sight of the great- 
ness and vileness of my sins ; and as I was then looking for 
nothing but Hell, and the everlasting damnation of my Soul, 
suddenly, as I thought, I saw the Lord Jesus look down from 
Heaven upon me, and saying, Believe on the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and thou shalt be saved. 

But I replied, Lord, I am a great, a very great, sinner. 
And he answered, My grace is sufficient for thee. Then I 
said, But Lord, what is believing ? And then I saw from 
that saying, He that cometh to me shall never hunger, and he 
that believeth on me shall never thirst, that believing and 
coming was all one ; and that he that came that is, ran out 
in his heart and affections after salvation by Christ he 
indeed believed in Christ. Then the water stood in mine 
eyes, and I asked further, But, Lord, may such a great sinner 
as I am be indeed accepted of thee, and be saved by thee? 
And I heard him say, And him that cometh to me I will in 
no wise cast out. Then I said, But how, Lord, must I 
consider of thee in my coming to thee, that my faith may 
be placed aright upon thee? Then he said, Christ Jesus 
came into the World to save sinners. He is the end of the 
Law for righteousness to every one that believes. He died 
for our sins, and rose again for our justification: He loved 
us and washed us from our sins in his own blood. He is 
Mediator between God and us. He ever liveth to make 
intercession for us. From all which I gathered that I must 
look for righteousness in his Person, and for Satisfaction for 
my Shis by his Blood; that what he did in obedience to his 
Father's Law, and in submitting to the penalty thereof, was 
not for himself, but for him that will accept it for his Salva- 


tion, and be thankful. And now was my heart full of joy, 
mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections running over 
with love to the Name, People, and Ways of Jesus Christ. 

CHR. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed; 
but tell me particularly what effect this had upon your spirit. 

HOPE. It made me see that all the World, notwith- 
standing all the righteousness thereof, is in a state of con- 
demnation. It made me see that God the Father, though 
he be just, can justly justify the coming sinner. It made 
me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my former life, and 
confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance; for 
there never came thought into my heart before now, that 
shewed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ. It made me love 
a holy life, and long to do something for the Honour and 
Glory of the Name of the Lord Jesus; yea, I thought that 
had I now a thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could 
spill it all for the sake of the Lord Jesus. 

I then saw in my Dream that Hopeful looked back and 
saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming after. 
Look, said he to Christian, how far yonder youngster 
loitereth behind. 

CHR. Ay, ay, I see him ; he careth not for our company. 

HOPE. But I trow it would not have hurt him, had he 
kept pace with us hitherto. 

CHR. That's true, but I warrant you he thinketh other- 

HOPE. That I think he doth, but, however, let us tarry 
for him. So they did. 

Then Christian said to him, Come away, man; why do 
you stay so behind? 

IGNOR. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even more 
a great deal than in Company, unless I like it the better. 

Then said Christian to Hopeful (but softly), Did I not 
tell you he cared not for our company ? But, however, said 
he, come up, and let us talk away the time in this solitary 
place. Then directing his speech to Ignorance, he said, 


Come, how do you ? How stands it between God and your 
Soul now? 

IGNOR. I hope well; for I am always full of good 
motions, that come into my mind to comfort me as I walk. 

CHR. What good motions ? pray tell us. 

IGNOR. Why, I think of God and Heaven. 

CHR. So do the Devils and damned Souls. 

IGNOR. But I think of them and desire them. 

CHR. So do many that are never like to come there. 
The Soul of the Sluggard desires, and hath nothing. 

IGNOR. But I think of them, and leave all for them. 

CHR. That I doubt, for leaving all is an hard matter, 
yea a harder matter than many are aware of. But why, or 
by what, art thou persuaded that thou hast left all for God 
and Heaven? 

IGNOR. My heart tells me so. 

CHR. The wise man says, He that trusts his own heart 
is a fool. 

IGNOR. This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a 
good one. 

CHR. But how dost thou prove that ? 

IGNOR. It comforts me in hopes of Heaven. 

CHR. That may be through its deceitfulness, for a man's 
heart may minister comfort to him in the hopes of that 
thing for which he yet has no ground to hope. 

IGNOR. But my heart and life agree together, and there- 
fore my hope is well grounded. 

CHR. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree 

IGNOR. My heart tells me so. 

CHR. Ask my fellow if I be a Thief! Thy heart tells 
thee so! Except the Word of God beareth witness in this 
matter, other testimony is of no value. 

IGNOR. But is it not a good heart that has good 
thoughts? and is not that a good life that is according to 
God's Commandments? 


CHR. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good thoughts, 
and that is a good life that is according to God's Command- 
ments; but it is one thing indeed to have these, and another 
thing only to think so. 

IGNOR. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a life 
according to God's Commandments? 

CHR. There are good thoughts of divers kinds, some 
respecting ourselves, some God, some Christ, and some other 

IGNOR. What be good thoughts respecting ourselves? 

CHR. Such as agree with the Word of God. 

IGNOR. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with 
the Word of God? 

CHR. When we pass the same Judgment upon ourselves 
which the Word passes : to explain myself, the Word of God 
saith of persons in a natural condition, There is none 
righteous, there is none that doeth good. It saith also, That 
every imagination of the heart of man is only evil, and that 
continually. And again, The imagination of man's heart 
is evil from his youth. Now then, when we think thus of 
ourselves, having sense thereof, then are our thoughts good 
ones, because according to the Word of God. 

IGNOR. I will never believe that my heart is thus bad. 

CHR. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought con- 
cerning thyself in thy life. But let me go on : As the Word 
passeth a Judgment upon our Heart, so it passeth a Judg- 
ment upon our Ways; and when our thoughts of our 
Hearts and Ways agree with the Judgment which the 
Word giveth of both, then are both good, because agreeing 

IGNOR. Make out your meaning. 

CHR. Why, the Word of God saith that man's ways are 
crooked ways, not good, but perverse. It saith they are 
naturally out of the good way, that they have not known it. 
Now when a man thus thinketh of his ways, I say, when he 
doth sensibly, and with heart-humiliation thus think, then 


hath he good thoughts of his own ways, because his thoughts 
now agree with the Judgment of the Word of God. 

IGNOR. What are good thoughts concerning God? 

CHR. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, when 
our thoughts of God do agree with what the Word saith of 
him ; and that is, when we think of his Being and Attributes 
as the Word hath taught, of which I cannot now discourse 
at large : but to speak of him with reference to us, then we 
have right thoughts of God, when we think that he knows 
us better than we know ourselves, and can see sin in us when 
and where we can see none in ourselves; when we think he 
knows our inmost thoughts, and that our heart with all its 
depths is always open unto his eyes; also when we think 
that all our righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and that 
therefore he cannot abide to see us stand before him in any 
confidence, even of all our best performances. 

IGNOR. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think 
God can see no further than I? or that I would come to 
God in the best of my performances? 

CHR. Why, how dost thou think in this matter ? 

IGNOR. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in 
Christ for Justification. 

CHR. How! think thou must believe in Christ, when 
thou seest not thy need of him! Thou neither seest thy 
original or actual infirmities; but hast such an opinion of 
thyself, and of what thou doest, as plainly renders thee to 
be one that did never see a necessity of Christ's personal 
righteousness to justify thee before God. How then dost 
thou say I believe in Christ ? 

IGNOR. I believe well enough for all that. 

CHR. How dost thou believe? 

IGNOR. I believe that Christ died for sinners, and that I 
shall be justified before God from the curse, through his 
gracious acceptance of my obedience to his Law. Or thus, 
Christ makes my Duties that are religious acceptable to his 
Father by virtue of his Merits ; and so shall I be justified. 


CHR. Let me give an answer to this Confession of thy 

1. Thou believest with a fantastical Faith, for this Faith 
is nowhere described in the Word. 

2. Thou believest with a false Faith, because it taketh 
Justification from the personal righteousness of Christ, and 
applies it to thy own. 

3. This Faith maketh not Christ a Justifier of thy 
person, but of thy actions; and of thy person for thy 
actions' sake, which is false. 

4. Therefore this Faith is deceitful, even such as will 
leave thee under wrath in the day of God Almighty; for 
true Justifying Faith puts the soul (as sensible of its lost 
condition by the law) upon flying for refuge unto Christ's 
righteousness (which righteousness of his is not an act of 
grace, by which he maketh for Justification thy obedience 
accepted with God; but his personal obedience to the Law, 
in doing and suffering for us what that required at our 
hands). This righteousness, I say, true Faith accepteth; 
under the skirt of which the soul being shrouded, and by it 
presented as spotless before God, it is accepted, and acquit 
from condemnation. 

IGNOR. What! would you have us trust to what Christ 
in his own person has done without us? This conceit 
would loosen the reins of our lust, and tolerate us to live 
as we list. For what matter how we live, if we may be 
Justified by Christ's personal righteousness from all, when 
we believe it ? 

CHR. Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art 
thou; even this thy answer demonstrateth what I say. 
Ignorant thou art of what Justifying Righteousness is, and 
as ignorant how to secure thy Soul through the Faith of it 
from the heavy wrath of God. Yea, thou also art ignorant 
of the true effects of saving Faith in this Righteousness of 
Christ, which is to bow and win over the heart to God in 


Christ, to love his Name, his Word, Ways, and people, and 
not as thou ignorantly imaginest. 

HOPE. Ask him if ever he had Christ revealed to him 
from Heaven? 

IGNOR. What! you are a man for revelations! I believe 
that what both you, and all the rest of you, say about that 
matter, is but the fruit of distracted brains. 

HOPE. Why, man! Christ is so hid in God from the 
natural apprehensions of all flesh, that he cannot by any 
man be savingly known, unless God the Father reveals him 
to them. 

IGNOR. That is your Faith, but not mine; yet mine I 
doubt not is as good as yours, though I have not in my head 
so many whimsies as you. 

CHR. Give me leave to put in a word : You ought not so 
slightly to speak of this matter: for this I will boldly affirm 
(even as my good Companion hath done), that no man can 
know Jesus Christ but by the revelation of the Father; 
yea, and Faith too, by which the soul layeth hold upon 
Christ (if it be right), must be wrought by the exceeding 
greatness of his mighty power; the working of which Faith, 
I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art ignorant of. 

Be awakened, then, see thine own wretchedness, and 
fly to the Lord Jesus; and by his righteousness, which is 
the righteousness of God (for he himself is God), thou shalt 
be delivered from condemnation. 

IGNOR. You go so fast I cannot keep pace with you; do 
you go on before, I must stay a while behind. 

Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be 
To slight good Counsel ten times given thee ? 
And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know 
Ere long the evil of thy doing so : 
Remember, man, in time; stoop, do not fear. 
Good Counsel taken well, saves; therefore hear: 
But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou wilt be 
The loser, Ignorance, I'll warrant thee. 

CHR. Well, come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that thou 
and I must walk by ourselves again. 


So I saw in my Dream that they went on apace before, 
and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Christian 
to his Companion, It pities me much for this poor man, it will 
certainly go ill with him at last. 

HOPE. Alas, there are abundance in our Town in his 
condition, whole families, yea, whole streets, and that of 
Pilgrims too; and if there be so many in our parts, how 
many, think you, must there be in the place where he was 

CHR. Indeed the Word saith, He hath blinded their eyes, 
lest they should see, etc. But now we are by ourselves, 
what do you think of such men? Have they at no time, 
think you, convictions of sin, and so consequently fears that 
their state is dangerous ? 

HOPE. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for 
you are the older man. 

CHR. Then I say, sometimes (as I think) they may, but 
they being naturally ignorant, understand not that such 
convictions tend to their good; and therefore they do 
desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptuously con- 
tinue to flatter themselves in the way of their own hearts. 

HOPE. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends much to 
men's good, and to make them right at their beginning to 
go on Pilgrimage. 

CHR. Without all doubt it doth, if it be right; for so 
says the Word, The fear of the Lord is the beginning of 

HOPE. How will you describe right fear? 

CHR. True or right fear is discovered by three things : 

1. By its rise; it is caused by saving convictions for sin. 

2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for 

3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great 
reverence of God, his Words, and Ways, keeping it tender, 
and making it afraid to turn from them, to the right hand 
or to the left, to anything that may dishonour God, break its 


peace, grieve the Spirit, or cause the Enemy to speak 

HOPE. Well said; I believe you have said the truth. 
Are we now almost got past the Enchanted Ground ? 

CHR. Why, are you weary of this discourse ? 

HOPE. No, verily, but that I would know where we are. 

CHR. We have not now above two miles farther to go 
thereon. But let us return to our matter. Now the 
Ignorant know not that such convictions as tend to put 
them in fear are for their good, and therefore they seek 
to stifle them. 

HOPE. How do they seek to stifle them ? 

CHR. i. They think that those fears are wrought by 
the Devil (though indeed they are wrought of God), and 
thinking so, they resist them as things that directly tend to 
their overthrow. 2. They also think that these fears tend 
to the spoiling of their Faith (when alas for them, poor men 
that they are, they have none at all!), and therefore they 
harden their hearts against them. 3. They presume they 
ought not to fear, and therefore in despite of them wax 
presumptuously confident. 4. They see that these fears 
tend to take away from them their pitiful old self-holiness, 
and therefore they resist them with all their might. 

HOPE. I know something of this myself; for before I 
knew myself it was so with me. 

CHR. Well, we will leave at this time our Neighbour 
Ignorance by himself, and fall upon another profitable 

HOPE. With all my heart, but you shall still begin. 

CHR. Well, then, did you not know about ten years ago, 
one Temporary in your parts, who was a forward man in 
Religion then? 

HOPE. Know him! yes, he dwelt in Graceless, a town 
about two miles off of Honesty, and he dwelt next door to 
one Turn-back. 

CHR. Right, he dwelt under the same roof with him. 


Well, that man was much awakened once; I believe that 
then he had some sight of his sins, and of the wages that 
was due thereto. 

HOPE. I am of your mind, for (my house not being above 
three miles from him) he would ofttimes come to me, and 
that with many tears. Truly I pitied the man, and was not 
altogether without hope of him; but one may see it is not 
every one that cries, Lord, Lord. 

CHR. He told me once,* That he was resolved to go on 
Pilgrimage, as we do now; but all of a sudden he grew 
acquainted with one Save-self , and then he became a stranger 
to me. 

HOPE. Now since we are talking about him, let us a little 
inquire into the reason of the sudden backsliding of him 
and such others. 

CHR. It may be very profitable, but do you begin. 

HOPE. Well, then, there are in my judgment four 
reasons for it. 

i. Though the consciences of such men are awakened, 
yet their minds are not changed; therefore when the power 
of guilt weareth away, that which provoked them to be 
religious ceaseth. Wherefore they naturally turn to their 
own course again, even as we see the Dog that is sick of what 
he has eaten, so long as his sickness prevails, he vomits and 
casts up all; not that he doth this of a free mind (if we may 
say a Dog has a mind), but because it troubleth his Stomach ; 
but now when his sickness is over, and so his Stomach eased, 
his desires being not at all alienate from his vomit, he turns 
him about and licks up all; and so it is true which is written, 
The Dog is turned to his own vomit again. This I say, being 
hot for Heaven by virtue only of the sense and fear of the 
torments of Hell, as their sense of Hell and the fears of 
damnation chills and cools, so their desires for Heaven and 
Salvation cool also. So then it comes to pass, that when 
then* guilt and fear is gone, their desires for Heaven and 
Happiness die, and they return to their course again. 


2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do 
overmaster them ; I speak now of the fears that they have 
of men, For the fear of men bringeth a snare. So, then, 
though they seem to be hot for Heaven, so long as the flames 
of Hell are about their ears, yet when that terror is a little 
over, they betake themselves to second thoughts; namely, 
that 'tis good to be wise, and not to run (for they know not 
what) the hazard of losing all; or at least, of bringing them- 
selves into unavoidable and unnecessary troubles, and so 
they fall in with the world again. 

3. The shame that attends Religion lies also as a block 
in their way; they are proud and haughty, and Religion in 
their eye is low and contemptible ; therefore, when they have 
lost their sense of Hell and wrath to come, they return 
again to their former course. 

4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to them; 
they like not to see their misery before they come into it. 
Though perhaps the sight of it first, if they loved that sight, 
might make them fly whither the righteous fly and are safe. 
But because they do, as I hinted before, even shun the 
thoughts of guilt and terror, therefore when once they are 
rid of their awakenings about the terrors and wrath of God, 
they harden their hearts gladly, and choose such ways as will 
harden them more and more. 

CHR. You are pretty near the business, for the bottom 
of all is for want of a change in their mind and will. And, 
therefore, they are but like the Felon that standeth before 
the Judge, he quakes and trembles, and seems to repent 
most heartily, but the bottom of all is the fear of the Halter, 
not any detestation of the offence, as is evident, because, 
let but this man have his liberty, and he will be a Thief, and 
so a Rogue still; whereas, if his mind was changed, he would 
be otherwise. 

HOPE. Now I have shewed you the reasons of their going 
back, do you shew me the manner thereof. 

CHR. So I will willingly. 


1. They draw off their thoughts, all that they may, 
from the remembrance of God, Death, and Judgment to 

2. Then they cast off by degrees private Duties, as 
Closet-prayer, Curbing their Lusts, Watching, Sorrow for 
Sin, and the like. 

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm 

4. After that they grow cold to public Duty, as Hearing, 
Reading, Godly Conference, and the like. 

5. Then they begin to pick holes, as we say, in the Coats 
of some of the Godly; and that devilishly, that they may 
have a seeming colour to throw Religion (for the sake of 
some infirmity they have spied in them) behind their backs. 

6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate them- 
selves with, carnal, loose, and wanton men. 

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton discourses 
in secret; and glad are they if they can see such things in 
any that are counted honest, that they may the more boldly 
do it through their example. 

8. After this, they begin to play with little sins openly. 

9. And then, being hardened, they shew themselves as 
they are. Thus being launched again into the gulf of 
misery, unless a Miracle of Grace prevent it, they everlast- 
ingly perish in their own deceivings. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that by this time the Pilgrims 
were got over the Enchanted Ground, and entering into the 
Country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and pleasant, 
the way lying directly through it, they solaced themselves 
there for a season. Yea, here they heard continually the 
singing of Birds, and saw every day the Flowers appear in 
the earth, and heard the voice of the Turtle in the land. In 
this Country the Sun shineth night and day; wherefore this 
was beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and also out 
of the reach of Giant Despair, neither could they from this 
place so much as see Doubting Castle. Here they were 


within sight of the City they were going to, also here met 
them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the 
Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon the 
borders of Heaven. In this land also the contract between 
the Bride and Bridegroom was renewed; yea here, as the 
Bridegroom rejoiceth over the Bride, so did their God rejoice 
over them. Here they had no want of Corn and Wine; for 
in this place they met with abundance of what they had 
sought in all their Pilgrimage. Here they heard voices from 
out of the City, loud voices, saying, Say ye to the .daughter 
of Zion, Behold thy salvation cometh, behold his reward 
is with him. Here all the inhabitants of the Country 
called them, The holy People, The redeemed of the Lord, 
Sought out, etc. 

Now as they walked in this Land, they had more rejoicing 
than in parts more remote from the Kingdom to which they 
were bound; and drawing near to the City, they had yet a 
more perfect view thereof. It was builded of Pearls and 
Precious Stones, also the Street thereof was paved with 
Gold; so that by reason of the natural glory of the City, 
and the reflection of the Sunbeams upon it, Christian with 
desire fell sick, Hopeful also had a fit or two of the same 
disease. Wherefore here they lay by it a while, crying out 
because of their pangs, If you see my Beloved, tell him that 
I am sick of love. 

But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear 
their sickness, they walked on their way, and came yet 
nearer and nearer, where were Orchards, Vineyards, and 
Gardens, and their gates opened into the Highway. Now 
as they came up to these places, behold the Gardener stood 
in the way, to whom the Pilgrims said, Whose goodly 
Vineyards and Gardens are these? He answered, They 
are the King's, and are planted here for his own delights, 
and also for the solace of Pilgrims. So the Gardener had 
them into the Vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves 
with Dainties. He also shewed them there the King's 

walks, and the Arbours where he delighted to be; and here 
they tarried and slept. 

Now I beheld in my Dream, that they talked more in 
their sleep at this time than ever they did in all their 
Journey; and being in a muse thereabout, the Gardener 
said even to me, Wherefore musest thou at the matter? 
It is the nature of the fruit of the Grapes of these Vineyards 
to go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of them that are 
asleep to speak. 

So I saw that when they awoke, they addressed them- 
selves to go up to the City. But, as I said, the reflection of 
the Sun upon the City (for the City was pure Gold) was so 
extremely glorious, that they could not as yet with open 
face behold it, but through an Instrument made for that 
purpose. So I saw that as they went on, there met them 
two men, in Raiment that shone like Gold, also their faces 
shone as the light. 

These men asked the Pilgrims whence they came? and 
they told them. They also asked them where they had 
lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts and 
pleasures they had met in the way? and they told them. 
Then said the men that met them, You have but two diffi- 
culties more to meet with, and then you are in the City. 

Christian then, and his Companion, asked the men to go 
along with them, so they told them they would. But, said 
they, you must obtain it by your own Faith. So I saw in 
my Dream that they went on together till they came within 
sight of the Gate. 

Now I further saw that betwixt them and the Gate was 
a River, but there was no Bridge to go over, the River was 
very deep : at the sight, therefore, of this River the Pilgrims 
were much stunned; but the men that went with them said, 
You must go through, or you cannot come at the Gate. 

The Pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other 
way to the Gate; to which they answered, Yes, but there 
hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been 


permitted to tread that path, since the foundation of the 
World, nor shall, until the last Trumpet shall sound. The 
Pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to despond in their 
mind, and looked this way and that, but no way could be 
found by them by which they might escape the River. 
Then they asked the men if the Waters were all of a depth ? 
They said, No ; yet they could not help them in that case, 
for, said they, you shall find it deeper or shallower, as you 
believe in the King of the place. 

They then addressed themselves to the Water; and 
entering, Christian began to sink, and crying out to his good 
friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep Waters; the Billows 
go over my head, all his Waves go over me, Selah. 

Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my Brother, I feel 
the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah, my 
friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me about, I 
shall not see the land that flows with milk and honey. And 
with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, 
so that he could not see before him. Also here he in great 
measure lost his senses, so that he could neither remember 
nor orderly talk of any of those sweet refreshments that he 
had met with in the way of his Pilgrimage. But all the 
words that he spake still tended to discover that he had 
horror of mind, and hearty fears that he should die in that 
River, and never obtain entrance in at the Gate. Here 
also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in the 
troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, 
both since and before he began to be a Pilgrim. 'Twas 
also observed that he was troubled with apparitions of 
Hobgoblins and evil Spirits, for ever and anon he would 
intimate so much by words. Hopeful therefore here had 
much ado to keep his Brother's head above water; yea 
sometimes he would be quite gone down, and then ere a 
while he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful also would 
endeavour to comfort him, saying, Brother, I see the Gate, 
and men standing by it to receive us. But Christian would 

hristian and Hopeful cross - 
rncr the Waters of Death 


answer, Tis you, 'tis you they wait for, you have been hope- 
ful ever since I knew you. And so have you, said he to 
Christian. Ah, Brother! said he, surely if I was right, he 
would now arise to help me ; but for my sins he hath brought 
me into the snare, and hath left me. Then said Hopeful, 
My Brother, you have quite forgot the Text, where it is said 
of the wicked, There is no band in their death, but their 
strength is firm, they are not troubled as other men, neither 
are they plagued like other men. These troubles and dis- 
tresses that you go through in these Waters are no sign that 
God hath forsaken you, but are sent to try you, whether you 
will call to mind that which heretofore you have received of 
his goodness, and live upon him in your distresses. 

Then I saw in my Dream that Christian was as in a 
muse a while. To whom also Hopeful added this word, 
Be of good cheer, Jesus Christ maketh thee whole: and 
with that Christian brake out with a loud voice, Oh, I see 
him again, and he tells me, When thou passest through the 
Waters, I will be with thee; and through the Rivers, they 
shall not overflow thee. Then they both took courage, 
and the Enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they 
were gone over. Christian, therefore, presently found ground 
to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the River 
was but shallow. Thus they got over. Now, upon the 
bank of the River on the other side, they saw the two shining 
men again, who there waited for them; wherefore being 
come out of the River, they saluted them saying, We are 
ministering Spirits, sent forth to minister for those that shall 
be heirs of salvation. Thus they went along towards the 
Gate. Now you must note that the City stood upon a 
mighty Hill, but the Pilgrims went up that Hill with ease, 
because they had these two men to lead them up by the 
arms; also they had left their mortal Garments behind them 
in the River, for though they went in with them, they came 
out without them. They therefore went up here with much 
agility and speed, though the foundation upon which the 


City was framed was higher than the Clouds. They there- 
fore went up through the Regions of the Air, sweetly talking 
as they went, being comforted, because they safely got over 
the River, and had such glorious Companions to attend 

Now, now, look how the holy Pilgrims ride, 
Clouds are their Chariots, Angels are their Guide: 
Who would not here for him all hazards run, 
That thus provides for his when this World's done ? 

The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about 
the glory of the place, who told them that the beauty and 
glory of it was inexpressible. There, said they, is the Mount 
Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of 
Angels, and the Spirits of just men made perfect. You are 
going now, said they, to the Paradise of God, wherein you 
shall see the Tree of Life, and eat of the never-fading fruits 
thereof; and when you come there, you shall have white 
Robes given you, and your walk and talk shall be every 
day with the King, even all the days of Eternity. There 
you shall not see again such things as you saw when you 
were in the lower Region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, 
sickness, affliction, and death, for the former things are 
passed away. You are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, 
and Jacob, and to the Prophets, men that God hath taken 
away from the evil to come, and that are now resting upon 
their beds, each one walking in his righteousness. The men 
then asked, What must we do in the holy place ? To whom 
it was answered, You must there receive the comfort of all 
your toil, and have joy for all your sorrow; you must reap 
what you have sown, even the fruit of all your Prayers and 
Tears, and sufferings for the King by the way. In that 
place you must wear Crowns of Gold, and enjoy the per- 
petual sight and vision of the Holy One, for there you shall 
see him as he is. There also you shall serve him continually 
with praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom you 
desired to serve in the World, though with much difficulty, 


because of the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall 
be delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the 
pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There you shall enjoy 
your friends again, that are got thither before you ; and there 
you shall with joy receive even every one that follows into the 
holy place after you. There also you shall be clothed with 
Glory and Majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out 
with the King of Glory. When he shall come with sound of 
Trumpet in the Clouds, as upon the wings of the Wind, you 
shall come with him ; and when he shall sit upon the Throne 
of Judgment, you shall sit by him; yea, and when he shall 
pass sentence upon all the workers of iniquity, let them be 
Angels or Men, you also shall have a voice in that Judg- 
ment, because they were his and your Enemies. Also when 
he shall again return to the City, you shall go too, with 
sound of Trumpet, and be ever with him. 

Now while they were thus drawing towards the Gate, 
behold a company of the Heavenly Host came out to meet 
them; to whom it was said by the other two Shining Ones, 
These are the men that have loved our Lord when they were 
in the World, and that have left all for his holy Name, and 
he hath sent us to fetch them, and we have brought them 
thus far on their desired Journey, that they may go in 
and look their Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the 
Heavenly Host, gave a great shout, saying, Blessed are they 
that are called to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. 

There came out also at this time to meet them several 
of the King's Trumpeters, clothed in white and shining 
Raiment, who, with melodious noises and loud, made even 
the Heavens to echo with their sound. These Trumpeters 
saluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes 
from the World, and this they did with shouting and sound 
of Trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round on every side; 
some went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, 
some on the left (as 'twere to guard them through the upper 


Regions), continually sounding, as they went, with melodious 
noise, in notes on high : so that the very sight was, to them 
that could behold it, as if Heaven itself was come down to 
meet them. Thus, therefore, they walked on together; and 
as they walked, ever and anon these Trumpeters, even with 
joyful sound, would, by mixing their Music with looks and 
gestures, still signify to Christian and his Brother, how 
welcome they were into their company, and with what glad- 
ness they came to meet them. And now were these two men 
as 'twere in Heaven before they came at it, being swallowed 
up with the sight of Angels, and with hearing of their 
melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in view, 
and they thought they heard all the Bells therein ring to 
welcome them thereto. But above all, the warm and joyful 
thoughts that they had about their own dwelling there, with 
such company, and that for ever and ever. Oh! by what 
tongue or pen can their glorious joy be expressed! And 
thus they came up to the Gate. 

Now when they were come up to the Gate, there was 
written over it in Letters of Gold, Blessed are they that do 
his Commandments, that they may have right to the Tree 
of Life, and may enter in through the Gates into the City. 

Then I saw in my Dream, that the Shining Men bid 
them call at the Gate; the which when they did, some 
from above looked over the Gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses, and 
Elijah, etc., to whom it was said, These Pilgrims are come 
from the city of Destruction for the love that they bear to 
the King of this place: and then the Pilgrims gave in unto 
them each man his Certificate, which they had received in 
the beginning; those, therefore, were carried in to the King, 
who when he had read them, said, Where are the men? To 
whom it was answered, They are standing without the Gate. 
The King then commanded to open the Gate, That the 
righteous nation, said he, that keepeth Truth may enter in. 

Now I saw in my Dream that these two men went in at 
the Gate: and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, 


and they had Raiment put on that shone like Gold. There 
were also that met them with Harps and Crowns, and gave 
them to them, the Harps to praise withal, and the Crowns in 
token of honour. Then I heard in my Dream that all the 
Bells in the City rang for joy, and that it was said unto 
them, Enter ye into the joy of your Lord. I also heard the 
men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, 
Blessing, Honour, Glory, and Power, be to him that sitteth 
upon the Throne and to the Lamb for ever and ever. 

Now just as the Gates were opened to let in the men, I 
looked in after them, and behold the City shone like the 
Sun; the Streets also were paved with Gold, and in them 
walked many men, with Crowns on their heads, Palms in 
their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings, and they 
answered one another without intermission, saying, Holy, 
Holy, Holy, is the Lord. And after that they shut up the 
Gates. Which when I had seen, I wished myself among them. 

Now while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned 
my head to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the 
River side; but he soon got over, and that without half 
that difficulty which the other two men met with. For it 
happened that there was then in that place one Vain-hope, 
a Ferryman, that with his Boat helped him over; so he, 
as the other, I saw, did ascend the Hill to come up to the 
Gate, only he came alone; neither did any man meet him 
with the least encouragement. When he was come up to the 
Gate, he looked up to the writing that was above, and then 
began to knock, supposing that entrance should have been 
quickly administered to him ; but he was asked by the men 
that looked over the top of the Gate, Whence came you? 
and what would you have? He answered, I have eat and 
drank in the presence of the King, and he has taught in our 
Streets. Then they asked him for his Certificate, that they 
might go in and shew it to the King. So he fumbled in his 
bosom for one, and found none. Then said they, Have you 


none? But the man answered never a word. So they 
told the King, but he would not come down to see him, but 
commanded the two Shining Ones that conducted Christian 
and Hopeful to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and 
bind him hand and foot, and have him away. Then they 
took him up, and carried him through the air to the door 
that I saw in the side of the Hill, and put him in there. 
Then I saw that there was a way to Hell even from the 
Gates of Heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction. 
So I awoke, and behold it was a Dream. 


Now, Reader, I have told my Dream to thee; 
See if thou canst interpret it to me, 
Or to thyself, or Neighbour; but take heed 
Of mis-interpreting; for that, instead 
Of doing good, will but thyself abuse : 
By mis-interpreting, evil insues. 

Take heed also, that thou be not extreme, 
In playing with the outside of my Dream : 
Nor let my figure or similitude 
Put thee into a laughter or a feud; 
Leave this for Boys and Fools; but as for thee, 
Do thou the substance of my matter see. 

Put by the Curtains, look within my Veil: 
Turn up my Metaphors, and do not fail 
There, if thou seekest them, such things to find, 
As will be helpful to an honest mind. 

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 
To throw away, but yet preserve the Gold. 
What if my Gold be wrapped up in Ore ? 
None throws away the Apple for the Core. 
But if thou shalt cast all away as vain, 
I know not but 'twill make me Dream again. 













" I have used similitudes." Hos. xii. 10. 

GO now my little Book, to every place 
Where my first Pilgrim has but shewn his Face : 
Call at their door. If any say, Who's there ? 
Then answer thou, Christiana is here. 
If they bid thee Come in, then enter thou, 
With all thy Boys; and then, as thou know'st how, 
Tell who they are, also from whence they came; 
Perhaps they'll know them by their looks or name. 
But if they should not, ask them yet again 
If formerly they did not entertain 
One Christian a Pilgrim ? If they say 
They did, and were delighted in his Way; 
Then let them know that those related were 
Unto him, yea, his Wife and Children are. 

Tell them that they have left their House and Home, 
Are turned Pilgrims, seek a World to come; 
That they have met with Hardships in the way ; 
That they do meet with Troubles night and day ; 
That they have trod on Serpents, fought with Devils, 
Have also overcome a many evils. 
Yea, tell them also of the next, who have 
Of love to Pilgrimage been stout and brave 
Defenders of that Way, and how they still 
Refuse this World, to do their Father's will. 

Go tell them also of those dainty things, 
That Pilgrimage unto the Pilgrim brings. 
Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 
Beloved of their King, under his care; 
What goodly Mansions for them he provides, 



Tho' they meet with rough Winds and swelling Tides, 
How brave a Calm they will enjoy at last, 
Who to their Lord and by his ways hold fast. 

Perhaps with heart and hand they will embrace 
Thee, as they did my Firstling, and will grace 
Thee, and thy fellows, with such cheer and fare, 
As shew will, they of Pilgrims lovers are. 


But how if they will not believe of me 
That I am truly thine, 'cause some there be 
That counterfeit the Pilgrim and his name, 
Seek by disguise to seem the very same, 
And by that means have wrought themselves into 
The hands and houses of I know not who ? 


Tis true, some have of late, to counterfeit 
My Pilgrim, to their own my Title set; 
Yea others half my Name and Title too 
Have stitched to their Book, to make them do ; 
But yet they by their Features do declare 
Themselves not mine to be, whose e'er they are 

If such thou meet'st with, then thine only way 
Before them all is to say out thy say, 
In thine own native language, which no man 
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 
If after all they still of you shall doubt, 
Thinking that you like Gipsies go about 
In naughty wise the Country to defile, 
Or that you seek good people to beguile 
With things unwarrantable; send for me, 
And I will testify you Pilgrims be ; 
Yea, I will testify that only you 
My Pilgrims are ; and that alone will do. 



But yet perhaps I may inquire for him, 
Of those that wish him damned, life and limb. 
What shall I do, when I at such a door 
For Pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the more ? 


Fright not thyself, my Book, for such Bugbears 
Are nothing else but ground for groundless fears : 
My Pilgrim's Book has travelTd sea and land, 
Yet could I never come to understand 
That it was slighted, or turn'd out of door 
By any Kingdom, were they rich or poor. 

In France and Flanders, where men kill each other, 
My Pilgrim is esteem'd a Friend, a Brother. 

In Holland, too, 'tis said, as I am told, 
My Pilgrim is with some worth more than Gold. 

Highlanders and Wild Irish can agree 
My Pilgrim should familiar with them be. 

'Tis hi New England under such advance, 
Receives there so much loving countenance, 
As to be trimm'd, new cloth'd, and deck't with Gems, 
That it may shew its features and its limbs, 
Yet more, so comely doth my Pilgrim walk 
That of him thousands daily sing and talk. 

If you draw nearer home, it will appear 
My Pilgrim knows no ground of shame or fear; 
City and Country will him entertain 
With, Welcome, Pilgrim; yea, they can't refrain 
From smiling, if my Pilgrim be but by, 
Or shews his head in any Company. 

Brave Gallants do my Pilgrim hug and love, 
Esteem it much, yea, value it above 
Things of a greater bulk : yea, with delight, 


Say my Lark's leg is better than a Kite. 

Young ladies, and young Gentlewomen too, 
Do no small kindness to my Pilgrim shew; 
Their Cabinets, their Bosoms, and their Hearts 
My Pilgrim has, 'cause he to them imparts 
His pretty riddles in such wholesome strains, 
As yield them profit double to their pains 
Of reading. Yea, I think I may be bold 
To say some prize him far above their Gold. 

The very Children that do walk the street, 
If they do but my holy Pilgrim meet, 
Salute him well, will wish him well, and say, 
He is the only Stripling of the Day. 

They that have never seen him, yet admire 
What they have heard of him, and much desire 
To have his company, and hear him tell 
Those Pilgrim stories which he knows so well. 

Yea, some who did not love him at the first, 
But call'd him Fool and Noddy, say they must 
Now they have seen and heard him, him commend, 
And to those whom they love they do him send. 

Wherefore, my Second Part, thou need'st not be 
Afraid to shew thy Head; none can hurt thee, 
That wish but well to him that went before, 
'Cause thou com'st after with a second store 
Of things as good, as rich, as profitable, 
For Young, for Old, for Stagg'ring, and for Stable. 


But some there be that say he laughs too loud; 
And some do say his Head is in a Cloud. 
Some say his Words and Stories are so dark, 
They know not how by them to find his mark. 



One may (I think) say, Both his laughs and cries 
May well be guess'd at by his watery eyes. 
Some things are of that nature as to make 
One's Fancy chuckle, while his Heart doth ache, 
When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep, 
He did at the same time both kiss and weep. 

Whereas some say, A Cloud is in his Head, 
That doth but shew how Wisdom's covered 
With its own mantles, and to stir the mind 
To a search after what it fain would find : 
Things that seem to be hid in words obscure, 
Do but the Godly mind the more allure; 
To study what those sayings should contain 
That speak to us in such a Cloudy strain. 

I also know a dark Similitude 
Will on the Fancy more itself intrude, 
And will stick faster in the Heart and Head, 
Than things from Similes not borrowed. 

Wherefore, my Book, let no discouragement 
Hinder thy travels. Behold, thou are sent 
To Friends, not foes; to Friends that will give place 
To thee, thy Pilgrims and thy words embrace. 

Besides, what my first Pilgrim left conceal'd, 
Thou my brave Second Pilgrim hast re veal' d; 
What Christian left lock't up, and went his way, 
Sweet Christiana opens with her Key. 


But some love not the method of your first, 
Romance they count it, throw't away as dust. 
If I should meet with such, what should I say ? 
Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay? 



My Christiana, if with such thou meet, 
By all means in all loving wise them greet; 
Render them not reviling for revile; 
But if they frown, I prithee on them smile; 
Perhaps 'tis Nature, or some ill report, 
Has made them thus despise, or thus retort. 

Some love no Cheese, some love no Fish, and some 
Love not their Friends, nor their own House or Home; 
Some start at Pig, slight Chicken, love not Fowl, 
More than they love a Cuckoo or an Owl; 
Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice, 
And seek those who to find thee will rejoice; 
By no means strive, but in all humble wise 
Present thee to them in thy Pilgrim's guise. 

Go then, my little Book, and shew to all 
That entertain, and bid thee welcome shall, 
What thou shalt keep close, shut up from the rest, 
And wish what thou shalt shew them may be blest 
To them for good, nay, make them choose to be 
Pilgrims better by far than thee or me. 

Go then, I say, tell all men who thou art, 
Say, I am Christiana, and my part 
Is now, with my four Sons, to tell you what 
It is for men to take a Pilgrim's lot : 

Go also, tell them who and what they be, 
That now do go on Pilgrimage with thee; 
Say, Here's my Neighbour Mercy, she is one 
That has long time with me a Pilgrim gone. 
Come see her in her Virgin Face,, and learn 
'Twixt Idle ones and Pilgrims to discern. 
Yea, let young Damsels learn of her to prize 
The World which is to come, in any wise. 
When little tripping Maidens follow God, 
And leave old doting Sinners to his Rod; 


'Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried 
Hosanah, to whom old ones did deride. 

Next tell them of old Honest, whom you found 
With his white hairs treading the Pilgrim's ground. 
Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was, 
How after his good Lord he bare his Cross ; 
Perhaps with some grey Head this may prevail 
With Christ to fall in Love, and Sin bewail. 

Tell them also how Master Fearing went 
On Pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
In Solitariness, with Fears and Cries, 
And how at last he won the joyful Prize. 
He was a good man, though much down in Spirit, 
He is a good man, and doth Life inherit. 

Tell them of Master Feeble-mind also, 
Who not before, but still behind would go ; 
Shew them also how he had like been slain, 
And how one Great-heart did his life regain. 
This man was true of Heart, tho' weak in Grace, 
One might true Godliness read in his Face. 

Then tell them of Master Ready-to-halt, 
A man with Crutches, but much without fault ; 
Tell them how Master Feeble-mind and he 
Did love, and in opinions much agree. 
And let all know, tho' weakness was their chance, 
Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance. 

Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-truth, 
That Man of courage, though a very Youth. 
Tell every one his Spirit was so stout, 
No man could ever make him face about, 
And how Great-heart and he could not forbear, 
But put down Doubting Castle, slay Despair. 

Overlook not Master Despondency, 
Nor Much-afraid, his Daughter, tho' they lie 
Under such Mantles as may make them look 
(With some) as if their God had them forsook. 


They softly went, but sure, and at the end 
Found that the Lord of Pilgrims was their Friend. 
When thou hast told the world of all these things, 
Then turn about, my Book, and touch these strings, 
Which if but touched, will such Music make, 
They'll make a Cripple dance, a Giant quake. 

These Riddles that lie couch'd within thy breast, 
Freely propound, expound; and for the rest 
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
For those whose nimble Fancies shall them gain. 

Now may this little Book a blessing be 
To those who love this little Book and me, 
And may its Buyer have no cause to say, 
His Money is but lost or thrown away ; 
Yea, may this Second Pilgrim yield that fruit 
As may with each good Pilgrim's Fancy suit; 
And may it persuade some that go astray, 
To turn their Feet and Heart to the right way: 

Is the Hearty Prayer 
of the Author, 




COURTEOUS Companions, some time since, 
to tell you my Dream that I had of 
Christian the Pilgrim, and of his dangerous 
Journey toward the Celestial Country, was 
pleasant to me, and profitable to you. I told 
you then also what I saw concerning his Wife 
and Children, and how unwilling they were 
to go with him on Pilgrimage, insomuch that 
he was forced to go on his Progress without 
them; for he durst not run the danger of that 
destruction which he feared would come by 
staying with them in the City of Destruction. 
Wherefore, as I then shewed you, he left them 
and departed. 

Now it hath so happened, through the 
multiplicity of Business, that I have been much 
hindered and kept back from my wonted 
Travels into those parts whence he went, and 
so could not till now obtain an opportunity 
to make further inquiry after whom he left 
behind, that I might give you an account of 
them. But having had some concerns that 
way of late, I went down again thitherward. 
Now having taken up my Lodgings in a Wood 
about a mile off the place, as I slept I dreamed 


And as I was in my Dream, behold an aged Gentleman 
came by where I lay; and because he was to go some part 
of the way that I was travelling, methought I got up and 
went with him. So as we walked, and as Travellers usually 
do, I was as if we fell into discourse, and our talk happened 
to be about Christian and his Travels; for thus I began with 
the old man. 

Sir, said I, what Town is that there below, that lieth on 
the left hand of our way ? 

Then said Mr. Sagacity (for that was his name), It is 
the City of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed 
with a very ill-conditioned and idle sort of People. 

I thought that was that City, quoth I: I went once 
myself through that Town, and therefore know that this 
report you give of it is true. 

SAG. Too true, I wish I could speak truth in speaking 
better of them that dwell therein. 

Well, Sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well- 
meaning man; and so one that takes pleasure to hear and 
tell of that which is good : pray, did you never hear what 
happened to a man some time ago in this Town (whose name 
was Christian) that went on Pilgrimage up towards the 
higher Regions ? 

SAG. Hear of him ! Ay, and I also heard of the Molesta- 
tions, Troubles, Wars, Captivities, Cries, Groans, Frights, 
and Fears that he met with and had in his Journey. Besides, 
I must tell you, all our Country rings of him ; there are but 
few houses that have heard of him and his doings but have 
sought after and got the Records of his Pilgrimage; yea, 
I think I may say that his hazardous Journey has got a 
many well-wishers to his ways; for though, when he was 
here, he was Fool in every man's mouth, yet now he is gone, 
he is highly commended of all. For 'tis said he lives bravely 
where he is; yea, many of them that are resolved never to 
run his hazards, yet have their mouths water at his gains. 

They may, quoth I, well think, if they think anything 


that is true, that he liveth well where he is ; for he now lives 
at and in the Fountain of Life, and has what he has without 
labour and sorrow, for there is no grief mixed therewith. 

SAG. Talk! the people talk strangely about him. Some 
say that he now walks in White, that he has a Chain of 
Gold about his neck, that he has a Crown of Gold, beset with 
Pearls, upon his head. Others say that the Shining Ones 
that sometimes shewed themselves to him in his Journey 
are become his Companions, and that he is as familiar with 
them in the place where he is, as here one Neighbour is with 
another. Besides, 'tis confidently affirmed concerning him, 
that the King of the place where he is has bestowed upon 
him already a very rich and pleasant dwelling at Court; 
and that he every day eateth and drinketh, and walketh, 
and talketh with him; and receiveth of the smiles and 
favours of him that is Judge of all there. Moreover, it is 
expected of some, that his Prince, the Lord of that Country, 
will shortly come into these parts, and will know the reason, 
if they can give any, why his Neighbours set so little by 
him, and had him so much in derision when they perceived 
that he would be a Pilgrim. For they say, that now he is 
so in the affections of his Prince, and that his Sovereign is 
so much concerned with the indignities that were cast upon 
Christian when he became a Pilgrim, that he will look upon 
all as if done unto himself; and no marvel, for 'twas for 
the love that he had to his Prince that he ventured as 
he did. 

I dare say, quoth I, I am glad on't; I am glad for the 
poor man's sake, for that he now has rest from his labour, 
and for that he now reapeth the benefit of his Tears with 
Joy; and for that he has got beyond the Gun-shot of his 
Enemies, and is out of the reach of them that hate him. I 
also am glad for that a rumour of these things is noised 
abroad in this Country; who can tell but that it may work 
some good effect on some that are left behind? But pray, 
Sir,, while it is fresh in my mind, do you hear anything of 


his wife and Children ? Poor hearts, I wonder in my mind 
what they do ! 

SAG. Who! Christiana and her Sons? They are like to 
do as well as did Christian himself; for though they all 
play'd the fool at the first, and would by no means be per- 
suaded by either the tears or entreaties of Christian, yet 
second thoughts have wrought wonderfully with them; so 
they have packed up, and are also gone after him. 

Better and better, quoth I. But what! Wife and 
Children and all ? 

SAG. It is true ; I can give you an account of the matter, 
for I was upon the spot at the instant, and was thoroughly 
acquainted with the whole affair. 

Then, said I, a man it seems may report it for a Truth ? 

SAG. You need not fear to affirm it, I mean that they 
are all gone on Pilgrimage, both the good woman and her 
four Boys. And being we are, as I perceive, going some 
considerable way together, I will give you an account of 
the whole of the matter. 

This Christiana (for that was her name from the day 
that she with her Children betook themselves to a Pilgrim's 
life), after her Husband was gone over the River, and she 
could hear of him no more, her thoughts began to work in 
her mind. First, for that she had lost her Husband, and 
for that the loving bond of that relation was utterly broken 
betwixt them. For you know, said he to me, Nature can 
do no less but entertain the living with many a heavy 
cogitation in the remembrance of the loss of loving Relations. 
This, therefore, of her husband did cost her many a tear. 
But this was not all, for Christiana did also begin to consider 
with herself, whether her unbecoming behaviour towards 
her Husband was not one cause that she saw him no more, 
and that in such sort he was taken away from her. And 
upon this came into her mind by swarms, all her unkind, 
unnatural, and ungodly carriages to her dear Friend; which 
also clogged her Conscience, and did load her with guilt. 


She was, moreover, much broken with calling to remembrance 
the restless groans, brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her 
Husband, and how she did harden her heart against all his 
entreaties, and loving persuasions (of her and her Sons) to 
go with him; yea, there was not anything that Christian 
either said to her, or did before her all the while that his 
Burden did hang on his back, but it returned upon her like 
a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her Heart in sunder. 
Specially that bitter outcry of his, What shall I do to be 
saved? did ring in her ears most dolefully. 

Then said she to her Children, Sons, we are all undone. 
I have sinned away your Father, and he is gone: he would 
have had us with him, but I would not go myself; I also 
have hindered you of Life. With that the Boys fell all into 
tears, and cried out to go after their Father. Oh! said 
Christiana, that it had been but our lot to go with him, then 
had it fared well with us, beyond what 'tis like to do now ; for 
though I formerly foolishly imagin'd concerning the troubles 
of your Father, that they proceeded of a foolish Fancy that 
he had, or for that he was overrun with melancholy 
Humours; yet now 'twill not out of my mind but that they 
sprang from another cause, to wit, for that the Light of 
Light was given him, by the help of which, as I perceive, he 
has escaped the snares of Death. Then they all wept again, 
and cried out, Oh, woe worth the day. 

The next night Christiana had a Dream ; and behold she 
saw as if a broad Parchment was opened before her, in 
which were recorded the sum of her ways; and the times, 
as she thought, look'd very black upon her. Then she cried 
out in her sleep, Lord have Mercy upon me a Sinner; and 
the little Children heard her. 

After this she thought she saw two very ill-favoured 
ones standing by her Bedside, and saying, What shall we do 
with this Woman? for she cries out for Mercy waking and 
sleeping; if she be suffered to go on as she begins, we shall 
lose her as we have lost her Husband. Wherefore we must, 


by one way or other, seek to take her off from the thoughts 
of what shall be hereafter, else all the World cannot help it 
but she will become a Pilgrim. 

Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling was 
upon her, but after a while she fell to sleeping again. And 
then she thought she saw Christian her Husband in a place 
of Bliss among many Immortals, with an Harp in his Hand, 
standing and playing upon it before one that sat on a 
Throne with a Rainbow about his Head. She saw also as 
if he bowed his Head with his Face to the pav'd-work that 
was under the Prince's feet, saying, I heartily thank my 
Lord and King for bringing of me into this Place. Then 
shouted a company of them that stood round about, and 
harped with their Harps; but no man living could tell what 
they said, but Christian and his Companions. 

Next morning, when she was up, had prayed to God, and 
talked with her Children a while, one knocked hard at the 
door, to whom she spake out, saying, If thou comest in 
God's name, come in. So he said, Amen, and opened the 
Door, and saluted her with Peace be to this house. The 
which when he had done, he said, Christiana, knowest thou 
wherefore I am come? Then she blushed and trembled, 
also her Heart began to wax warm with desires to know 
whence he came, and what was his errand to her. So he said 
unto her, My name is Secret ; I dwell with those that are high. 
It is talked of where I dwell, as if thou hadst a desire to go 
thither; also there is a report that thou art aware of the 
evil thou hast formerly done to thy Husband, in hardening 
of thy Heart against his way, and in keeping of these thy 
Babes in their Ignorance. Christiana, the Merciful One 
has sent me to tell thee that he is a God ready to forgive, 
and that he taketh delight to multiply to pardon offences. 
He would also have thee know that he inviteth thee to come 
into his Presence, to his Table, and that he will feed thee 
with the Fat of his House, and with the Heritage of Jacob 
thy Father. 


There is Christian thy Husband that was, with Legions 
more his Companions, ever beholding that Face that doth 
minister Life to beholders; and they will all be glad when 
they shall hear the sound of thy feet step over thy Father's 

Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and 
bowing her head to the ground, this Visitor proceeded and 
said, Christiana, here is also a Letter for thee, which I have 
brought from thy Husband's King. So she took it and 
opened it, but it smelt after the manner of the best Perfume, 
also it was written in letters of Gold. The contents of the 
Letter was, That the King would have her do as did Christian 
her Husband; for that was the way to come to his City, and 
to T dwell in his Presence with Joy for ever. At this the good 
Woman was quite overcome ; so she cried out to her Visitor, 
Sir, will you carry me and my Children with you, that we 
also may go and worship this King? 

Then said the Visitor, Christiana, the bitter is before 
the sweet : thou must through troubles, as did he that went 
before thee, enter this Celestial City. Wherefore, I advise 
thee to do as did Christian thy Husband. Go to the Wicket- 
gate yonder, over the Plain, for that stands in the head of 
the way up which thou must go, and I wish thee all good 
speed. Also I advise that thou put this Letter in thy 
bosom; that thou read therein to thyself and to thy 
Children, until you have got it by rote of heart, for it is 
one of the Songs that thou must sing while thou art in this 
House of thy Pilgrimage; also this thou must deliver in at 
the further Gate. 

Now I saw in my Dream, that this old Gentleman, as he 
told me this story, did himself seem to be greatly affected 
therewith. He moreover proceeded, and said, So Christiana 
called her Sons together, and began thus to address herself 
unto them : My Sons, I have, as you may perceive, been of 
late under much exercise in my Soul about the Death of 
your Father; not for that I doubt at all of his Happiness, 


for I am satisfied now that he is well. I have also been much 
affected with the thoughts of mine own state and yours, 
which I verily believe is by nature miserable. My carriages 
also to your Father in his distress, is a great load to my 
Conscience; for I hardened both my own heart and yours 
against him, and refused to go with him on Pilgrimage. 

The thoughts of these things would now kill me outright 
but for a Dream which I had last night, and but for the 
encouragement that this stranger has given me this morning. 
Come, my Children, let us pack up and be gone to the Gate 
that leads to the Celestial Country, that we may see your 
Father, and be with him and his Companions in peace, 
according to the Laws of that Land. 

Then did her Children burst out into tears for joy that 
the heart of their Mother was so inclined. So their Visitor 
bid them farewell, and they began to prepare to set out for 
their Journey. 

But while they were thus about to be gone, two of the 
women that were Christiana's Neighbours came up to her 
house and knocked at her door. To whom she said as 
before, If you come in God's name, come in. At this the 
women were stunned, for this kind of language they used 
not to hear, or to perceive to drop from the lips of Christiana. 
Yet they came in: but behold they found the good woman 
a preparing to be gone from her house. 

So they began and said, Neighbour, pray what is your 
meaning by this? 

Christiana answered and said to the eldest of them, 
whose name was Mrs. Timorous, I am preparing for a 
journey. (This Timorous was daughter to him that met 
Christian upon the Hill Difficulty, and would have had him 
go back for fear of the Lions.) 

TIM. For what Journey, I pray you ? 

CHRIS. Even to go after my good Husband. And with 
that she fell a weeping. 

TIM. I hope not so, good Neighbour, pray for your poor 


Children's sakes, do not so unwomanly cast away your- 

CHRIS. Nay, my Children shall go with me, not one of 
them is willing to stay behind. 

TIM. I wonder in my very heart, what or who has 
brought you into this mind. 

CHRIS. Oh, Neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, 
I doubt not but that you would go with me. 

TIM. Prithee what new knowledge hast thou got, that 
so worketh off thy mind from thy Friends, and that tempteth 
thee to go nobody knows where ? 

CHRIS. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely 
afflicted since my Husband's departure from me, but 
especially since he went over the River. But that which 
troubleth me most, is my churlish carriages to him when 
he was under his distress. Besides, I am now as he was 
then ; nothing will serve me but going on Pilgrimage. I was 
a dreaming last night that I saw him. Oh that my Soul was 
with him. He dwelleth in the presence of the King of the 
Country, he sits and eats with him at his table, he is become 
a Companion of Immortals, and has a House now given him 
to dwell in, to which the best Palaces on Earth, if compared, 
seem to me to be but as a Dunghill. The Prince of the place 
has also sent for me, with promise of entertainment if I shall 
come to him; his messenger was here even now, and has 
brought me a Letter, which invites me to come. And with 
that she pluck'd out her Letter, and read it, and said to 
them, What now will you say to this? 

TIM. Oh ! the madness that has possessed thee and thy 
Husband, to run yourselves upon such difficulties! You 
have heard, I am sure, what your Husband did meet with, 
even in a manner at the first step that he took on his way, 
as our Neighbour Obstinate can yet testify, for he went 
along with him; yea, and Pliable too, until they like wise 
men were afraid to go any further. We also heard over and 
above, how he met with the Lions, Apollyon, the Shadow 


of Death, and many other things. Nor is the danger that 
he met with at Vanity Fair to be forgotten by thee; for 
if he, though a Man, was so hard put to it, what canst thou, 
being but a poor Woman, do? Consider also that these 
four sweet Babes are thy Children, thy Flesh and thy 
Bones. Wherefore, though thou shouldst be so rash as to 
cast away thyself, yet for the sake of the Fruit of thy Body 
keep thou at home. 

But Christiana said unto her, Tempt me not, my neigh- 
bour. I have now a price put into mine hand to get gain, 
and I should be a Fool of the greatest size if I should have 
no heart to strike in with the opportunity. And for that 
you tell me of all these Troubles that I am like to meet with 
in the way, they are so far off from being to me a discourage- 
ment, that they shew I am in the right. The bitter must 
come before the sweet, and that also will make the sweet 
the sweeter. Wherefore, since you came not to my house in 
God's name, as I said, I pray you to be gone, and not to 
disquiet me further. 

Then Timorous also revil'd her, and said to her fellow, 
Come, Neighbour Mercy, let us leave her in her own hands, 
since she scorns our Counsel and Company. But Mercy 
was at a stand, and could not so readily comply with her 
Neighbour, and that for a twofold reason. First, her 
bowels yearned over Christiana: so she said within herself, 
If my Neighbour will needs be gone, I will go a little way 
with her and help her. Secondly, her bowels yearned over 
her own Soul (for what Christiana had said had taken some 
hold upon her mind). Wherefore she said within herself 
again, I will yet have more talk with this Christiana, and if 
I find Truth and Life in what she shall say, myself with my 
heart shall also go with her. Wherefore Mercy began thus 
to reply to her Neighbour Timorous. 

MERCY. Neighbour, I did indeed come with you to see 
Christiana this morning; and since she is, as you see, a 
taking of her last farewell of her Country, I think to walk 


this Sunshine morning a little way with her to help her on 
the way. But she told her not of her second reason, but 
kept that to herself. 

TIM. Well, I see you have a mind to go a fooling too, but 
take heed in tune, and be wise : while we are out of danger, 
we are out; but when we are in, we are in. So Mrs. 
Timorous returned to her house, and Christiana betook 
herself to her Journey. But when Timorous was got home 
to her house, she sends for some of her Neighbours, to wit, 
Mrs. Bat's-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light-mind, and 
Mrs. Know-nothing. So when they were come to her house, 
she falls to telling of the story of Christiana and of her 
intended Journey. And thus she began her tale. 

TIM. Neighbours, having had little to do this morning, 
I went to give Christiana a visit; and when I came at the 
door, I knocked, as you know 'tis our custom. And she 
answered, If you come in God's name, come in. So in I 
went, thinking all was well. But when I came in, I found 
her preparing herself to depart the Town, she and also her 
Children. So I asked her what was her meaning by that? 
And she told me, in short, that she was now of a mind to go 
on Pilgrimage, as did her Husband. She told me also a 
Dream that she had, and how the King of the Country 
where her Husband was had sent her an inviting Letter to 
come thither. 

Then said Mrs. Know-nothing, And what do you think ? 
will she go ? 

TIM. Ay, go she will, whatever come on't; andmethinks 
I know it by this, for that which was my great argument to 
persuade her to stay at home (to wit, the Troubles she was 
like to meet with in the way) is one great argument with her 
to put her forward on her Journey. For she told me hi so 
many words, The bitter goes before the sweet. Yea, and 
for as much as it so doth, it makes the sweet the sweeter. 

MRS. BAT'S-EYES. Oh, this blind and foolish woman, said 
she, will she not take warning by her Husband's afflictions ? 


For my part, I see, if he was here again, he would rest him 
content in a whole skin, and never run so many hazards for 

Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saying, Away with such 
Fantastical Fools from the Town ! A good riddance, for my 
part, I say of her. Should she stay where she dwells, and 
retain this her mind, who could live quietly by her? for she 
will either be dumpish or unneighbourly, or talk of such 
matters as no wise body can abide; wherefore, for my part, 
I shall never be sorry for her departure ! let her go, and let 
better come in her room: 'twas never a good World since 
these whimsical Fools dwelt in it. 

Then Mrs. Light-mind added as followeth: Come, put 
this kind of talk away. I was yesterday at Madam 
Wanton's, where we were as merry as the maids. For who 
do you think should be there, but I and Mrs. Love-the-flesh, 
and three or four more, with Mr. Lechery, Mrs. Filth, and 
some others. So there we had music and dancing, and 
what else was meet to fill up the pleasure, and I dare say 
my Lady herself is an admirably well-bred Gentlewoman, 
and Mr. Lechery is as pretty a fellow. 

By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy 
went along with her. So as they went, her children being 
there also, Christiana began to discourse. And Mercy, said 
Christiana, I take this as an unexpected favour, that thou 
shouldst set foot out of doors with me, to accompany me a 
little in my way. 

MERCY. Then said young Mercy (for she was but young), 
If I thought it would be to purpose to go with you, I would 
never go near the Town any more. 

CHRIS. Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot with 
me: I well know what will be the end of our Pilgrimage; 
my Husband is where he would not but be for all the Gold 
in the Spanish Mines. Nor shalt thou be rejected, though 
thou goest but upon my Invitation. The King who hath 
sent for me and my Children is one that delighteth in Mercy. 


Besides, if thou wilt, I will hire thee, and them shalt go 
along with me as my servant; yet we will have all things 
in common betwixt thee and me, only go along with me. 

MERCY. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall 
be entertained? Had I this hope but from one that can 
tell, I would make no stick at all, but would go, being helped 
by him that can help, though the way was never so tedious. 

CHRIS. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou 
shalt do. Go with me to the Wicket-gate, and there I will 
further inquire for thee; and if there thou shalt not meet 
with encouragement, I will be content that thou shalt return 
to thy place. I will also pay thee for thy kindness which 
thou shewest to me and my Children, in thy accompanying 
us in our way as thou dost. 

MERCY. Then I will go thither, and will take what shall 
follow, and the Lord grant that my lot may there fall even 
as the King of Heaven shall have his heart upon me. 

Christiana then was glad at her heart, not only that she 
had a Companion, but also for that she had prevailed with 
this poor Maid to fall in love with her own Salvation. So 
they went on together, and Mercy began to weep. Then 
said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my Sister so ? 

MERCY. Alas! said she, who can but lament, that shall 
but rightly consider what a state and condition my poor 
Relations are in that yet remain in our sinful Town: and 
that which makes my grief the more heavy is, because they 
have no Instructor, nor any to tell them what is to come. 

CHRIS. Bowels becometh Pilgrims; and thou dost for 
thy Friends as my good Christian did for me when he left 
me; he mourned for that I would not heed nor regard him, 
but his Lord and ours did gather up his Tears, and put them 
into his Bottle; and now both I and thou and these my 
sweet Babes are reaping the fruit and benefit of them. I 
hope, Mercy, these Tears of thine will not be lost; for the 
truth hath said, That they that sow in Tears shall reap in 
Joy, in singing. And he that goeth forth and weepeth, 


bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with 
rejoicing, bringing his Sheaves with him. 
Then said Mercy 

Let the Most Blessed be my guide, 
If 't be his blessed will, 
Unto his Gate, into his Fold, 
Up to his Holy Hill. 

And let him never suffer me 
To swerve or turn aside 
From his free grace and holy ways, 
Whate'er shall me betide. 

And let him gather them of mine, 
That I have left behind; 
Lord make them pray they may be thine, 
With all their heart and mind. 

Now my old Friend proceeded and said: But when 
Christiana came up to the Slough of Despond, she began to 
be at a stand; for said she, This is the place in which my 
dear Husband had like to have been smothered with mud. 
She perceived also, that notwithstanding the command of 
the King to make this place for Pilgrims good, yet it was 
rather worse than formerly. So I asked if that was true? 
Yes, said the Old Gentleman, too true; for that many there 
be that pretend to be the King's Labourers, and that say 
they are for mending the King's Highway, that bring dirt 
and dung instead of stones, and so mar instead of mending. 
Here Christiana, therefore, with her Boys, did make a stand ; 
but said Mercy, Come, let us venture, only let us be wary. 
Then they looked well to the steps, and made a shift to get 
staggeringly over. 

Yet Christiana had like to have been in, and that not 
once nor twice. Now they had no sooner got over, but they 
thought they heard words that said unto them, Blessed is 
she that believeth, for there shall be a performance of the 
things that have been told her from the Lord. 

Then they went on again; and said Mercy to Christiana, 
Had I as good ground to hope for a loving reception at the 
Wicket-gate as you, I think no Slough of Despond would 
discourage me. 


Well, said the other, you know your sore, and I know 
mine; and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil 
before we come at our Journey's end. 

For can it be imagined, that the people that design to 
attain such excellent Glories as we do, and that are so envied 
that Happiness as we are ; but that we shall meet with what 
Fears and Scares, with what Trouble and Afflictions they 
can possibly assault us with that hate us ? 

And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my Dream 
by myself. Wherefore methought I saw Christiana and 
Mercy and the Boys go all of them up to the Gate; to which 
when they were come, they betook themselves to a short 
debate about how they must manage their calling at the 
Gate, and what should be said to him that did open to them. 
So it was concluded, since Christiana was the eldest, that 
she should knock for entrance, and that she should speak 
to him that did open for the rest. So Christiana began to 
knock, and as her poor Husband did, she knocked and 
knocked again. But instead of any that answered, they 
all thought that they heard as if a Dog came barking upon 
them a Dog, and a great one too; and this made the 
Women and Children afraid, nor durst they for a while to 
knock any more, for fear the Mastiff should fly upon them. 
Now, therefore, they were greatly tumbled up and down in 
their minds, and knew not what to do. Knock they durst 
not, for fear of the Dog; go back they durst not, for fear 
that the Keeper of that Gate should espy them as they 
so went, and should be offended with them. At last they 
thought of knocking again, and knocked more vehemently 
than they did at the first. Then said the Keeper of the 
Gate, Who is there? So the Dog left off to bark, and he 
opened unto them. 

Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said, Let not 
our Lord be offended with his Handmaidens, for that we 
have knocked at this princely Gate. Then said the Keeper, 
Whence come ye, and what is that you would have ? 


Christiana answered, We are come from whence Christian 
did come, and upon the same Errand as he; to wit, to be, 
if it shall please you, graciously admitted by this Gate into 
the way that leads to the Celestial City. And I answer, 
my Lord, in the next place, that I am Christiana, once the 
Wife of Christian that now is gotten above. 

With that the Keeper of the Gate did marvel, saying, 
What ! Is she become now a Pilgrim, that but a while ago 
abhorred that life? Then she bowed her head, and said, 
Yes, and so are these my sweet Babes also. 

Then he took her by the hand, and let her in, and said 
also, Suffer the little Children to come unto me; and with 
that he shut up the Gate. This done, he called to a Trumpeter 
that was above, over the Gate, to entertain Christiana with 
shouting and sound of Trumpet for joy. So he obeyed and 
sounded, and filled the air with his melodious notes. 

Now all this while poor Mercy did stand without, 
trembling and crying for fear that she was rejected. But 
when Christiana had gotten admittance for herself and her 
Boys, then she began to make intercession for Mercy. 

CHRIS. And she said, My Lord, I have a Companion of 
mine that stands yet without, that is come hither upon the 
same account as myself: one that is much dejected in her 
mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without sending 
for, whereas I was sent to by my Husband's King to come. 

Now Mercy began to be very impatient, for each minute 
was as long to her as an hour, wherefore she prevented 
Christiana from a fuller interceding for her, by knocking at 
the Gate herself. And she knocked then so loud, that she 
made Christiana to start. Then said the Keeper of the 
Gate, Who is there? and said Christiana, It is my Friend. 

So he opened the Gate, and looked out ; but Mercy was 
fallen down without in a swoon, for she fainted, and was 
afraid that no Gate would be opened to her. 

Then he took her by the hand, and said, Damsel, I bid 
thee arise. 


Oh, Sir, said she, I am faint ; there is scarce life left in 
me. But he answered, that one once said, When my soul 
fainted within me, I remembered the Lord, and my prayer 
came in unto thee, into thy Holy Temple. Fear not, but 
stand upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou art come. 

MERCY. I am come for that unto which I was never 
invited, as my Friend Christiana was. Hers was from the 
King, and mine was but from her: wherefore I fear I 

Did she desire thee to come with her to this Place ? 

MERCY. Yes; and as my Lord sees, I am come. And 
if there is any grace or forgiveness of sins to spare, I beseech 
that I thy poor Handmaid may be partaker thereof. 

Then he took her again by the hand, and led her gently 
in, and said, I pray for all them that believe on me, by 
what means soever they come unto me. Then said he to 
those that stood by, Fetch something, and give it to Mercy 
to smell on, thereby to stay her fainting. So they fetch'd 
her a bundle of Myrrh, and a while after she was revived. 

And now was Christiana and her Boys and Mercy 
received of the Lord at the head of the way, and spoke 
kindly unto by him. 

Then said they yet further unto him, We are sorry for 
our sins, and beg of our Lord his Pardon, and further 
information what we must do. 

I grant Pardon, said he, by word and deed; by word, 
in the promise of forgiveness; by deed, in the way I obtained 
it. Take the first from my lips with a kiss, and the other as 
it shall be revealed. 

Now I saw in my Dream that he spoke many good 
words unto them, whereby they were greatly gladdened. He 
also had them up to the top of the Gate, and shewed them 
by what deed they were saved; and told them withal that 
that sight they would have again as they went along in the 
way, to their comfort. 

So he left them a while in a Summer Parlour below, where 


they entered into talk by themselves; and thus Christiana 
began: O Lord! how glad am I that we are got in 

MERCY. So you well may; but I of all have cause to 
leap for joy. 

CHRIS. I thought one time, as I stood at the Gate 
(because I had knocked and none did answer), that all our 
labour had been lost, specially when that ugly Cur made 
such a heavy barking against us. 

MERCY. But my worst fear was after I saw that you 
were taken into his favour and that I was left behind. Now, 
thought I, 'tis fulfilled which is written, Two women shall 
be grinding together, the one shall be taken and the other 
left. I had much ado to forbear crying out, Undone, 

And afraid I was to knock any more ; but when I looked 
up to what was written over the Gate, I took courage. I 
also thought that I must either knock again or die; so I 
knocked, but I cannot tell how, for my spirit now struggled 
betwixt life and death. 

CHRIS. Can you not tell how you knocked? I am sure 
your knocks were so earnest that the very sound of them 
made me start; I thought I never heard such knocking in 
all my life; I thought you would a come in by violent hands, 
or a took the Kingdom by storm. 

MERCY. Alas, to be in my case, who that so was could 
but have done so ? You saw that the Door was shut upon 
me, and that there was a most cruel Dog thereabout. Who, 
I say, that was so faint-hearted as I, that would not have 
knocked with all their might? But pray, what said my 
Lord to my rudeness ? was he not angry with me ? 

CHRIS. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave a 
wonderful innocent smile; I believe what you did pleased 
him well enough, for he shewed no sign to the contrary. 
But I marvel in my heart why he keeps such a Dog; had I 
known that afore, I fear I should not have had heart enough 

THE DOG 191 

to a ventured myself in this manner. But now we are in, 
and I am glad with all my heart. 

MERCY. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes 
down, why he keeps such a filthy Cur in his yard; I hope he 
will not take it amiss. 

Ay, do, said the Children, and persuade him to hang him, 
for we are afraid he will bite us when we go hence. 

So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy fell 
to the ground on her face before him and worshipped, and 
said, Let my Lord accept of the sacrifice of Praise which I 
now offer unto him with the calves of my lips. 

So he said unto her, Peace be to thee, stand up. But 
she continued upon her face, and said, Righteous art thou, 

Lord, when I plead with thee, yet let me talk with thee of 
thy Judgments. Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a Dog 
in thy yard, at the sight of which such Women and Children 
as we are ready to fly from thy Gate for fear ? 

He answered and said, That Dog has another owner; 
he also is kept close in another man's ground, only my 
Pilgrims hear his barking; he belongs to the Castle which 
you see there at a distance, but can come up to the walls of 
this place. He has frightened many an honest Pilgrim from 
worse to better, by the great voice of his roaring. Indeed 
he that owneth him doth not keep him of any good will to 
me or mine, but with intent to keep the Pilgrims from coming 
to me, and that they may be afraid to knock at this Gate 
for entrance. Sometimes also he has broken out, and has 
worried some that I love; but I take all at present patiently. 

1 also give my Pilgrims timely help, so they are not delivered 
up to his power, to do to them what his doggish nature 
would prompt him to. But what! my purchased one, I 
trow, hadst thou known never so much beforehand, thou 
wouldest not have been afraid of a Dog. 

The Beggars that go from Door to Door will, rather than 
they will lose a supposed Alms, run the hazard of the bawling, 
barking, and biting too of a Dog; and shall a Dog a Dog in 


another man's yard, a Dog whose barking I turn to the 
profit of Pilgrims keep any from coming to me ? I deliver 
them from the Lions, their Darling from the power of the 

MERCY. Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance; I 
spake what I understood not; I acknowledge that thou 
doest all things well. 

CHRIS. Then Christiana began to talk of their Journey, 
and to inquire after the way. So he fed them, and washed 
their feet, and set them in the way of his steps, according as 
he had dealt with her Husband before. So I saw in my 
Dream that they walk'd on their way, and had the weather 
very comfortable to them. 

Then Christiana began to sing, saying, 

Bless'd be the Day that I began 
A Pilgrim for to be; 
And blessed also be that man 
That thereto moved me. 

'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began 
To seek to live for ever : 
But now I run fast as I can ; 
'Tis better late than never. 

Our Tears to Joy. our Fears to Faith, 
Are turned, as we see, 
Thus our beginning (as one satth). 
Shews what our end will be. 

Now there was, on the other side of the Wall that fenced 
in the way up which Christiana and her Companions were 
to go, a Garden, and that Garden belonged to him whose 
was that barking Dog, of whom mention was made before. 
And some of the Fruit-trees that grew in that Garden shot 
their branches over the Wall; and being mellow, they that 
found them did gather them up, and oft eat of them to their 
hurt. So Christiana's Boys, as Boys are apt to do, being 
pleas'd with the trees, and with the Fruit that did hang 
thereon, did plash them, and began to eat. Their mother 
did also chide them for so doing, but still the Boys went on. 

Well, said she, my Sons, you transgress, for that Fruit 
is none of ours ; but she did not know that they did belong 


to the Enemy; I'll warrant you if she had, she would a been 
ready to die for fear. But that passed, and they went on 
their way. Now by that they were gone about two bows'- 
shot from the place that let them into the way, they espied 
two very ill-favoured ones coming down apace to meet them. 
With that Christiana and Mercy her friend covered them- 
selves with their Veils, and so kept on their Journey; the 
Children also went on before, so that at last they met 
together. Then they that came down to meet them, came 
just up to the Women as if they would embrace them; but 
Christiana said, Stand back, or go peaceably by as you 
should. Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded not 
Christiana's words, but began to lay hands upon them. 
At that Christiana, waxing very wroth, spurned at them 
with her feet. Mercy also, as well as she could, did what 
she could to shift them. Christiana again said to them, 
Stand back, and be gone, for we have no money to lose, 
being Pilgrims as ye see, and such too as live upon the 
Charity of our Friends. 

ILL-FAV. Then said one of the two men, We make no 
assault upon you for Money, but are come out to tell you, 
that if you will but grant one small request which we shall 
ask, we will make Women of you for ever. 

CHRIS. Now Christiana imagining what they should 
mean, made answer again, We will neither hear, nor regard, 
nor yield to what you shall ask. We are in haste, cannot 
stay, our business is a business of Life and Death. So again 
she and her Companions made a fresh essay to go past 
them, but they letted them in their way. 

ILL-FAV. And they said, We intend no hurt to your 
lives, 'tis another thing we would have. 

CHRIS. Ah, quoth Christiana, you would have us Body 
and Soul, for I know 'tis for that you are come; but we will 
die rather upon the spot, than suffer ourselves to be brought 
into such snares as shall hazard our well-being hereafter. 
And with that they both shrieked out, and cried, Murder, 


murder: and so put themselves under those Laws that are 
provided for the Protection of Women. But the men still 
made their approach upon them, with design to prevail 
against them: they therefore cried out again. 

Now they being, as I said, not far from the Gate in at 
which they came, their voice was heard from where they 
were, thither. Wherefore some of the House came out, and 
knowing that it was Christiana's tongue, they made haste 
to her relief. But by that they were got within sight of 
them, the Women were in a very great scuffle, the children 
also stood crying by. Then did he that came in for their 
relief call out to the Ruffians, saying, What is that thing 
that you do ? Would you make my Lord's people to trans- 
gress? He also attempted to take them, but they did make 
their escape over the Wall into the Garden of the man to 
whom the great Dog belonged; so the Dog became their 
Protector. This Reliever then came up to the Women, 
and asked them how they did. So they answered, We 
thank thy Prince, pretty well, only we have been some- 
what affrighted; we thank thee also for that thou earnest 
in to our help, for otherwise we had been overcome. 

RELIEVER. So after a few more words, this Reliever said 
as followeth : I marvelled much when you were entertained 
at the Gate above, being ye knew that ye were but weak 
Women, that you petitioned not the Lord there for a 
Conductor; then might you have avoided these troubles and 
dangers, for he would have granted you one. 

CHRIS. Alas ! said Christiana, we were so taken with our 
present blessing, that dangers to come were forgotten by 
us; besides, who could have thought that so near the King's 
Palace there should have lurked such naughty ones? 
Indeed, it had been well for us, had we asked our Lord for 
one; but since our Lord knew 'twould be for our profit, I 
wonder he sent not one along with us ! 

REL. It is not always necessary to grant things not 
asked for, lest by so doing they become of little esteem; but 


when the want of a thing is felt, it then comes under, in the 
eyes of him that feels it, that estimate that properly is its 
due, and so consequently will be thereafter used. Had 
my Lord granted you a Conductor, you would not neither so 
have bewailed that oversight of yours in not asking for one 
as now you have occasion to do. So all things work for 
good, and tend to make you more wary. 

CHRIS. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess 
our folly, and ask one? 

REL. Your confession of your folly I will present him 
with. To go back again you need not; for in all places 
where you shall come, you will find no want at all, for in 
every of my Lord's Lodgings which he has prepared for the 
reception of his Pilgrims, there is sufficient to furnish them 
against all attempts whatsoever. But, as I said, he will be 
inquired of by them to do it for them : and 'tis a poor thing 
that is not worth asking for. When he had thus said, he 
went back to his place, and the Pilgrims went on their way. 

MERCY. Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here ! 
I made account we had now been past all danger, and that 
we should never see sorrow more. 

CHRIS. Thy innocency, my Sister, said Christiana to 
Mercy, may excuse thee much; but as for me, my fault 
is so much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I 
came out of the Doors, and yet did not provide for it where 
provision might a been had. I am therefore much to be 

MERCY. Then said Mercy, How knew you this before you 
came from home? Pray open to me this riddle. 

CHRIS. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of 
doors, one night, as I lay in my bed, I had a Dream about 
this; for methought I saw two men, as like these as ever 
the world they could look, stand at my bed's feet, plotting 
how they might prevent my Salvation. I will tell you 
their very words. They said ('twas when I was in my 
Troubles), What shall we do with this woman? for she cries 


out waking and sleeping, for forgiveness : if she be suffered 
to go on as she begins we shall lose her as we have lost her 
Husband. This you know might a made me take heed, and 
have provided when provision might a been had. 

MERCY. Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have an 
occasion ministered unto us to behold our own imperfections, 
so our Lord has taken occasion thereby to make manifest 
the riches of his Grace. For he, as we see, has followed us 
with unasked kindness, and has delivered us from their 
hands that were stronger than we, of his mere good 

Thus now, when they had talked away a little more time, 
they drew nigh to an House which stood in the way, which 
House was built for the relief of Pilgrims: as you will find 
more fully related in the First Part of these Records of the 
Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew on towards the House 
(the House of the Interpreter), and when they came to the 
door, they heard a great talk in the House. They then 
gave ear, and heard, as they thought, Christiana mentioned 
by name. For you must know that there went along, even 
before her, a talk of her and her Children's going on 
Pilgrimage. And this thing was the more pleasing to them, 
because they had heard that she was Christian's Wife, that 
Woman who was some time ago so unwilling to hear of going 
on Pilgrimage. Thus, therefore, they stood still and heard 
the good people within commending her, who they little 
thought stood at the door. At last Christiana knocked as 
she had done at the Gate before. Now when she had 
knocked, there came to the door a young Damsel, and 
opened the door and looked, and behold two Women were 

DAMSEL. Then said the Damsel to them, With whom 
would you speak in this place ? 

CHRIS. Christiana answered, We understand that this 
is a privileged place for those that are become Pilgrims, and 
we now at this door are such; wherefore we pray that we 


may be partakers of that for which we at this time are come ; 
for the day, as thou seest, is very far spent, and we are loth 
to-night to go any farther. 

DAMSEL. Pray, what may I call your name, that I may 
tell it to my Lord within ? 

CHRIS. My name is Christiana; I was the Wife of that 
Pilgrim that some years ago did travel this way, and these 
be his four Children. This Maiden also is my Companion, 
and is going on Pilgrimage too. 

INNOCENT. Then ran Innocent in (for that was her name), 
and said to those within, Can you think who is at the door? 
There is Christiana and her Children and her Companion, 
all Awaiting for entertainment here. Then they leaped for 
joy, and went and told their Master. So he came to the 
door, and looking upon her, he said, Art thou that Christiana 
whom Christian the Good man left behind him when he 
betook himself to a Pilgrim's life ? 

CHRIS. I am that Woman that was so hard-hearted as 
to slight my Husband's Troubles, and that left him to go on 
in his Journey alone, and these are his four Children; but 
now I also am come, for I am convinced that no way is 
right but this. 

INTER. Then is fulfilled that which also is written of 
the man that said to his Son, Go, work to-day in my Vine- 
yard; and he said to his Father, I will not; but afterwards 
repented and went. 

CHRIS. Then said Christiana, So be it, Amen. God make 
it a true saying upon me, and grant that I may be found at 
the last of him in peace, without spot, and blameless. 

INTER. But why standest thou thus at the door? 
Come in, thou Daughter of Abraham. We were talking of 
thee but now, for tidings have come to us before how thou 
art become a Pilgrim. Come, Children, come in; come, 
Maiden, come in. So he had them all into the House. 

So when they were within, they were bidden sit down 
and rest them; the which when they had done, those that 


attended upon the Pilgrims in the House came into the 
Room to see them. And one smiled, and another smiled, 
and they all smiled for joy that Christiana was become a 
Pilgrim. They also looked upon the Boys: they stroked 
them over the faces with the hand, in token of their kind 
reception of them. They also carried it lovingly to Mercy, 
and bid them all welcome into their Master's House. 

After a while, because Supper was not ready, the Inter- 
preter took them into his significant Rooms, and shewed 
them what Christian, Christiana's Husband, had seen some 
time before. Here, therefore, they saw the Man in the Cage, 
the Man and his Dream, the Man that cut his way through 
his Enemies, and the Picture of the biggest of them all, 
together with the rest of those things that were then so 
profitable to Christian. 

This done, and after these things had been somewhat 
digested by Christiana and her company, the Interpreter 
takes them apart again, and has them first into a Room 
where was a Man that could look no way but downwards, 
with a Muck-rake in his hand. There stood also one over 
his head with a Celestial Crown in his hand, and proffered 
him that Crown for his Muck-rake ; but the man did neither 
look up, nor regard, but raked to himself the straws, the 
small sticks, and dust of the floor. 

Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know 
somewhat the meaning of this; for this is a figure of a Man 
of this World, is it not, good Sir? 

INTER. Thou hast said the right, said he, and his Muck- 
rake doth shew his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest 
him rather give heed to rake up straws and sticks and the 
dust of the floor, than to what he says that calls to him from 
above, with the Celestial Crown in his hand, it is to shew 
that Heaven is but as a fable to some, and that things here 
are counted the only things substantial. Now, whereas it 
was also shewed thee that the man could look no way but 
downwards, it is to let thee know that earthly things, when 


they are with power upon men's minds, quite carry their 
hearts away from God. 

CHRIS. Then said Christiana, Ohl deliver me from this 

INTER. That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by 
till 'tis almost rusty. Give me not Riches, is scarcely the 
prayer of one of ten thousand. Straws and sticks 
and dust, with most, are the great things now looked 

With that Mercy and Christiana wept, and said, It is, 
alas! too true. 

When the Interpreter had shewed them this, he had 
them into the very best Room in the House (a very brave 
Room it was) ; so he bid them look round about, and see 
if they could find anything profitable there. Then they 
looked round and round, for there was nothing there to be 
seen but a very great Spider on the wall, and that they 

MER. Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing; but Chris- 
tiana held her peace. 

INTER. But said the Interpreter, Look again; she 
therefore look'd again and said, Here is not anything but 
an ugly Spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall. 
Then said he, Is there but one Spider in all this spacious 
Room ? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for she 
was a woman quick of apprehension; and she said, Yes, 
Lord, there is here more than one. Yea, and Spiders whose 
Venom is far more destructive than that which is in her. 
The Interpreter then looked pleasantly upon her, and said, 
Thou hast said the truth. This made Mercy blush, and the 
Boys to cover their faces, for they all began now to under- 
stand the Riddle. 

Then said the Interpreter again, the Spider taketh hold 
with her hands as you see, and is in King's Palaces. And 
wherefore is this recorded, but to shew you, that how full 
of the Venom^of sin soever you be, yet you may by the hand 


of faith lay hold of and dwell in the best Room that belongs 
to the King's House above. 

CHRIS. I thought, said Christiana, of something of this, 
but I could not imagine it all. I thought that we were like 
Spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in what fine 
Room soever we were ; but that by this Spider, this venomous 
and ill-favoured creature, we were to learn how to act Faith, 
came not into my mind. And yet she has taken hold with 
her hands, as I see, and dwells in the best Room in the House. 
God has made nothing in vain. 

Then they seemed all to be glad, but the water stood in 
their eyes; yet they looked one upon another, and also 
bowed before the Interpreter. 

He had them then into another Room, where was a Hen 
and Chickens, and bid them observe a while. So one of the 
Chickens went to the trough to drink, and every time she 
drank she lift up her head and her eyes towards Heaven. 
See, said he, what this little Chick doth, and learn of her to 
acknowledge whence your mercies come, by receiving them 
with looking up. Yet again, said he, observe and look; so 
they gave heed and perceived that the Hen did walk in a 
four-fold method towards her Chickens. I. She had a 
common call, and that she hath all day long. 2. She had 
a special call, and that she had but sometimes. 3. She had 
a brooding note. And 4. She had an out-cry. 

Now, said he, compare this Hen to your King, and these 
Chickens to his obedient ones. For, answerable to her, 
himself has his methods which he walketh in towards his 
People; by his common call he gives nothing; by his special 
call he always has something to give ; he has also a brooding 
voice for them that are under his wing; and he has an out- 
cry to give the alarm when he seeth the Enemy come. I 
chose, my Darlings, to lead you into the Room where such 
things are, because you are Women, and they are easy for 

CHRIS. And, Sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some 


more. So he had them into the Slaughter-house, where 
was a butcher a killing of a Sheep; and behold the Sheep 
was quiet, and took her death patiently. Then said the 
Interpreter, You must learn of this Sheep to suffer, and to 
put up wrongs without murmurings and complaints. Behold 
how quietly she taketh her death, and, without objecting, 
she suffereth her skin to be pulled over her ears. Your 
King doth call you his Sheep. 

After this, he led them into his Garden, where was great 
variety of Flowers, and he said, Do you see all these? So 
Christiana said, Yes. Then said he again, Behold the 
Flowers are diverse in stature, in quality and colour and 
smell and virtue, and some are better than some; also 
where the Gardener has set them there they stand, and 
quarrel not with one another. 

Again, he had them into his Field, which he had sowed 
with Wheat and Corn; but when they beheld, the tops of 
all was cut off, only the straw remained. He said again, 
This ground was dunged and ploughed and sowed, but what 
shall we do with the Crop? Then said Christiana, Burn 
some, and make muck of the rest. Then said the Inter- 
preter again, Fruit, you see, is that thing you look for, and 
for want of that you condemn it to the fire, and to be trodden 
under foot of men; beware that in this you condemn not 

Then as they were coming in from abroad, they espied 
a little Robin with a great Spider in his mouth. So the 
Interpreter said, Look here. So they looked, and Mercy 
wondered; but Christiana said, What a disparagement is 
it to such a little pretty bird as the Robin-redbreast is, he 
being also a bird above many that loveth to maintain a 
kind of sociableness with man; I had thought they had 
lived upon crumbs of bread, or upon other such harmless 
matter. I like him worse than I did. 

The Interpreter then replied, This Robin is an emblem 
very apt to set forth some Professors by; for to sight they 


are, as this Robin, pretty of note, colour, and carriage. They 
seem also to have a very great love for Professors that are 
sincere; and, above all other, to desire to sociate with, and 
to be in their company, as if they could live upon the good 
man's crumbs. They pretend, also, that therefore it is that 
they frequent the house of the godly, and the appointments 
of the Lord; but when they are by themselves, as the Robin, 
they can catch and gobble up Spiders, they can change their 
diet, drink Iniquity, and swallow down Sin like water. 

So when they were come again into the house, because 
Supper as yet was not ready, Christiana again desired that 
the Interpreter would either shew or tell of some other things 
that are profitable. 

Then the Interpreter began and said, The fatter the sow 
is, the more she desires the Mire; the fatter the Ox is, the 
more gamesomely he goes to the slaughter; and the more 
healthy the lusty man is, the more prone he is unto evil. 

There is a desire in Women to go neat and fine, and it is a 
comely thing to be adorned with that that in God's sight is 
of great price. 

Tis easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a 
whole year together; so 'tis easier for one to begin to profess 
well, than to hold out as he should to the end. 

Every Ship-master, when in a Storm, will willingly cast 
that overboard that is of the smallest value in the vessel; 
but who will throw the best out first? None but he that 
feareth not God. 

One Leak will sink a Ship, and one Sin will destroy a 

He that forgets his Friend is ungrateful unto him, but 
he that forgets his Saviour is unmerciful to himself. 

He that lives in Sin, and looks for Happiness hereafter, 
is like him that soweth Cockle, and thinks to fill his Barn 
with Wheat or Barley. 

If a man would live well, let him fetch his last day to 
him, and make it always his Company-keeper. 


Whispering and change of thoughts proves that Sin is in 
the World. 

If the World, which God sets light by, is counted a thing 
of that worth with men, what is Heaven which God com- 
mendeth ? 

If the Life that is attended with so many Troubles is so 
loth to be let go by us, what is the Life above ? 

Everybody will cry up the goodness of Men; but who 
is there that is, as he should, affected with the goodness 
of God? 

We seldom sit down to meat, but we eat and leave; so 
there is in Jesus Christ more Merit and Righteousness than 
the whole world has need of. 

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into 
his Garden again, and had them to a Tree whose inside was 
all rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had Leaves. Then 
said Mercy, What means this? This Tree, said he, whose 
outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, it is to which 
many may be compared that are in the Garden of God; who 
with their mouths speak high in behalf of God, but indeed 
will do nothing for him; whose leaves are fair, but their 
heart good for nothing but to be tinder for the Devil's 

Now Supper was ready, the Table spread, and all things 
set on the board; so they sat down and did eat when one 
had given thanks. And the Interpreter did usually enter- 
tain those that lodged with him with Music at Meals, so 
the Minstrels played. There was also one that did sing, 
and a very fine voice he had. His song was this : 

The Lord is only my support, 
And he that doth me feed ; 
How can I then want anything 
Whereof I stand in need ? 

When the Song and Music was ended, the Interpreter 
asked Christiana, What it was that at first did move her to 
betake herself to a Pilgrim's life? 


Christiana answered, First, the loss of my Husband 
came into my mind, at which I was heartily grieved; but all 
that was but natural affection. Then after that came the 
Troubles and Pilgrimage of my Husband's into my mind, 
and also how like a churl I had carried it to him as to that. 
So guilt took hold of my mind, and would have drawn me 
into the Pond; but that opportunely I had a Dream of the 
well-being of my Husband, and a Letter sent me by the King 
of that Country where my Husband dwells to come to him. 
The Dream and the Letter together so wrought upon my 
mind that they forced me to this way. 

INTER. But met you with no opposition afore you set 
out of doors ? 

CHRIS. Yes, a Neighbour of mine, one Mrs. Timorous 
(she was akin to him that would have persuaded my Husband 
to go back for fear of the Lions.) She all to befooled me 
for, as she called it, my intended desperate adventure; she 
also urged what she could to dishearten me to it, the hard- 
ship and Troubles that my Husband met with in the way: 
but all this I got over pretty well. But a Dream that I had 
of two ill-looked ones, that I thought did plot how to make 
me miscarry in my Journey, that hath troubled me much; 
yea, it still runs in my mind, and makes me afraid of every 
one that I meet, lest they should meet me to do me a mischief, 
and to turn me out of the way. Yea, I may tell my Lord, 
though I would not have everybody know it, that between 
this and the Gate by which we got into the way, we were 
both so sorely assaulted, that we were made to cry out 
Murder, and the two that made this assault upon us were 
like the two that I saw in my Dream. 

Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good, thy 
latter end shall greatly increase. So he addressed himself 
to Mercy, and said unto her, And what moved thee to come 
hither, sweetheart? 

Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while 
continued silent. 


INTER. Then said he, Be not afraid, only believe, and 
speak thy mind. 

MERCY. So she began and said, Truly, Sir, my want of 
Experience is that that makes me covet to be in silence, and 
that also that fills me with fears of coming short at last. I 
cannot tell of Visions and Dreams as my Friend Christiana 
can, nor know I what it is to mourn for my refusing of the 
counsel of those that were good Relations. 

INTER. What was it then, dear heart, that hath pre- 
vailed with thee to do as thou hast done ? 

MERCY. Why, when our friend here was packing up to 
be gone from our Town, I and another went accidentally to 
see her. So we knocked at the door and went in. When we 
were within and seeing what she was doing, we asked what 
was her meaning. She said she was sent for to go to her 
Husband; and then she up and told us how she had seen 
him in a Dream dwelling in a curious place among Immortals 
wearing a Crown, playing upon a Harp, eating and drinking 
at his Prince's Table, and singing Praises to him for bring- 
ing him thither, etc. Now methought, while she was telling 
these things unto us, my heart burned within me; and I 
said in my heart, If this be true, I will leave my Father and 
my Mother and the Land of my Nativity, and will, if I may, 
go along with Christiana. 

So I asked her further of the truth of these things, and 
if she would let me go with her: for I saw now that there 
was no dwelling, but with the danger of ruin, any longer in 
our Town. But yet I came away with a heavy heart, not 
for that I was unwilling to come away, but for that so many 
of my Relations were left behind. And I am come with all 
the desire of my heart, and will go, if I may, with Christiana 
unto her Husband and his King. 

INTER. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast given 
credit to the truth. Thou art a Ruth, who did for the love 
she bore to Naomi and to the Lord her God, leave Father 
and Mother and the Land of her Nativity, to come out and 


go with a people that she knew not heretofore. The Lord 
recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the 
Lord God of Israel, under whose Wings thou art come to 

Now Supper was ended, and Preparations were made for 
Bed; the Women were laid singly alone, and the Boys by 
themselves. Now when Mercy was in Bed, she could not 
sleep for joy, for that now her doubts of missing at last were 
removed further from her than ever they were before. So 
she lay blessing and praising God who had had such favour 
for her. 

In the morning they arose with the Sun, and prepared 
themselves for their departure; but the Interpreter would 
have them tarry a while, For, said he, you must orderly go 
from hence. Then said he to the Damsel that at first 
opened unto them, Take them and have them into the 
Garden to the Bath, and there wash them, and make them 
clean from the soil which they have gathered by travelling. 
Then Innocent, the Damsel, took them, and had them into 
the Garden, and brought them to the Bath; so she told them 
that there they must wash and be clean, for so her Master 
would have the Women to do that called at his house, as they 
were going on Pilgrimage. They then went in and washed, 
yea they and the Boys and all; and they came out of that 
Bath, not only sweet and clean, but also much enlivened and 
strengthened in their joints. So when they came in, they 
looked fairer a deal than when they went out to the washing. 

When they were returned out of the Garden from the 
Bath, the Interpreter took them and looked upon them 
and said unto them, Fair as the Moon. Then he called for 
the Seal wherewith they used to be sealed that were washed 
in his Bath. So the Seal was brought, and he set his Mark 
upon them, that they might be known in the places whither 
they were yet to go. Now the Seal was the contents and sum 
of the Passover which the Children of Israel did eat when 
they came out from the land of Egypt, and the Mark was 


set between their eyes. This Seal greatly added to their 
beauty, for it was an ornament to their faces. It also added 
to their gravity, and made their countenances more like 
those of Angels. 

Then said the Interpreter again to the Damsel that 
waited upon these Women, Go into the Vestry and fetch out 
Garments for these people; so she went and fetched out 
white Raiment, and laid it down before him; so he com- 
manded them to put it on. It was fine linen, white and 
clean. When the Women were thus adorned, they seemed 
to be a terror one to the other, for that they could not see 
that glory each one on herself which they could see in each 
other. Now, therefore, they began to esteem each other 
better than themselves. For you are fairer than I am, said 
one; and you are more comely than I am, said another. 
The Children also stood amazed to see into what fashion 
they were brought. 

The Interpreter then called for a Man-servant of his, one 
Great-heart, and bid him take sword and helmet and shield : 
And take these my Daughters, said he, and conduct them 
to the house called Beautiful, at which place they will rest 
next. So he took his Weapons and went before them, and 
the Interpreter said, God speed. Those also that belonged 
to the Family sent them away with many a good wish. So 
they went on their way and sung 

This place has been our second stage. 
Here we have heard and seen 
Those good things that, from age to age, 
To others hid have been. 

The Dunghill-raker, Spider, Hen, 
The Chicken, too, to me 
Hath taught a lesson ; let me then 
Conformed to it be. 

The Butcher, Garden, and the Field, 
The Robin and his bait, 
Also the Rotten Tree doth yield 
Me argument of weight, 

To move me for to watch and pray, 
To strive to be sincere, 
To take my Cross up day by day, 
And serve the Lord with fear. 


Now I saw in my Dream that they went on, and Great- 
heart went before them : so they went and came to the place 
where Christian's Burden fell off his back and tumbled into a 
Sepulchre. Here then they made a pause, and here also 
they blessed God. Now, said Christiana, it comes to my 
mind what was said to us at the Gate, to wit, that we should 
have pardon by word and deed: by word, that is, by the 
promise; by deed, to wit, in the way it was obtained. 
What the promise is, of that I know something; but what 
it is to have pardon by deed, or in the way that it was 
obtained, Mr. Great-heart, I suppose you know; wherefore, 
if you please, let us hear your discourse thereof. 

GREAT-HEART. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon 
obtained by some one for another that hath need thereof: 
not by the person pardoned, but in the way, saith another, 
in which I have obtained it. So then, to speak to the ques- 
tion more large, the pardon that you and Mercy and these 
Boys have attained, was obtained by another, to wit, by 
him that let you in at the Gate: and he hath obtain 'd it in 
this double way, he has performed Righteousness to cover 
you, and spilt Blood to wash you in. 

CHRIS. But if he parts with his Righteousness to us, 
what will he have for himself? 

GREAT-HEART. He has more Righteousness than you 
have need of, or than he needeth himself. 

CHRIS. Pray, make that appear. 

GREAT-HEART. With all my heart; but first I must 
premise that he of whom we are now about to speak is one 
that has not his fellow. He has two Natures in one Person, 
plain to be distinguished, impossible to be divided. Unto 
each of these Natures a Righteousness belongeth, and each 
Righteousness is essential to that Nature; so that one may 
as easily cause the Nature to be extinct as to separate its 
Justice or Righteousness from it. Of these Righteousnesses, 
therefore, we are not made partakers, so as that they, or any 
of them, should be put upon us that we might be made just, 


and live thereby. Besides these, there is a Righteousness 
which this Person has, as these two Natures are joined in 
one. And this is not the Righteousness of the Godhead, as 
distinguished from the Manhood; nor the Righteousness 
of the Manhood, as distinguished from the Godhead; but 
a Righteousness which standeth in the union of both 
Natures, and may properly be called the Righteousness 
that is essential to his being prepared of God to the capacity 
of the Mediatory Office which he was to be entrusted with. 
If he parts with his first Righteousness, he parts with his 
Godhead; if he parts with his second Righteousness, he 
parts with the purity of his Manhood; if he parts with his 
third, he parts with that perfection that capacitates him 
to the Office of Mediation. He has, therefore, another 
Righteousness, which standeth in performance, or obedience 
to a revealed will; and that is it that he puts upon Sinners, 
and that by which their sins are covered. Wherefore he 
saith, As by one man's disobedience many were made Sinners, 
so by the obedience of one shall many be made Righteous. 

CHRIS. But are the other Righteousnesses of no use to 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, for though they are essential to his 
Natures and Office, and so cannot be communicated unto 
another, yet it is by virtue of them that the Righteousness 
that justifies is for that purpose efficacious. The Righteous- 
ness of his Godhead gives virtue to his Obedience; the 
Righteousness of his Manhood giveth capability to his obedi- 
ence to justify; and the Righteousness that standeth in the 
union of these two Natures to his Office, giveth authority 
to that Righteousness to do the work for which it is ordained. 

So, then, here is a Righteousness that Christ as God has 
no need of, for he is God without it; here is a Righteous- 
ness that Christ as Man has no need of to make him so, for 
he is perfect Man without it ; again, here is a Righteousness 
that Christ as God-man has no need of, for he is perfectly 
so without it. Here, then, is a Righteousness that Christ, as 



God, as Man, as God-man, has no need of, with reference to 
himself, and therefore he can spare it ; a justifying Righteous- 
ness that he for himself wanteth not, and therefore he giveth 
it away; hence 'tis called the gift of Righteousness. This 
Righteousness, since Christ Jesus the Lord has made himself 
under the Law, must be given away : for the Law doth not 
only bind him that is under it to do justly, but to use 
Charity. Wherefore he must, he ought by the Law, if he 
hath two Coats, to give one to him that hath none. Now 
our Lord indeed hath two Coats, one for himself, and one to 
spare ; wherefore he freely bestows one upon those that have 
none. And thus, Christiana and Mercy and the rest of you 
that are here, doth your pardon come by deed, or by the 
work of another man. Your Lord Christ is he that has 
worked, and has given away what he wrought for to the 
next poor beggar he meets. 

But, again, in order to pardon by deed, there must some- 
thing be paid to God as a price, as well as something pre- 
pared to cover us withal. Sin has delivered us up to the 
just curse of a righteous Law; now from this curse we 
must be justified by way of redemption, a price being paid 
for the harms we have done; and this is by the Blood of 
your Lord, who came and stood in your place and stead, 
and died your death for your transgressions. Thus has he 
ransomed you from your transgressions by Blood, and 
covered your polluted and deformed souls with Righteous- 
ness. For the sake of which God passeth by you, and will 
not hurt you when he comes to judge the World. 

CHRIS. This is brave. Now I see that there was some- 
thing to be learned by our being pardoned by word and 
deed. Good Mercy, let us labour to keep this in mind, and 
my Children, do you remember it also. But, Sir, was not 
this it that made my good Christian's Burden fall from off 
his shoulder, and that made him give three leaps for joy? 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, 'twas the belief of this that cut 
those strings that could not be cut by other means, and 


'twas to give him a proof of the virtue of this, that he was 
suffered to carry his Burden to the Cross. 

CHRIS. I thought so, for though my heart was lightful and 
joyous before, yet it is ten times more lightsome and joyous 
now. And I am persuaded by what I have felt, though I have 
felt but little as yet, that if the most burdened man in the 
world was here, and did see and believe as I now do, 'twould 
make his heart the more merry and blithe. 

GREAT-HEART. There is not only comfort, and the ease 
of a Burden brought to us, by the sight and consideration 
of these, but an endeared affection begot in us by it; for 
who can, if he doth but once think that pardon comes, not 
only by promise but thus, but be affected by the way and 
means of his redemption, and so with the Man that hath 
wrought it for him ? 

CHRIS. True; methinks it makes my heart bleed to think 
that he should bleed for me. Oh! thou loving One. Oh! 
thou blessed One. Thou deservest to have me, thou hast 
bought me: thou deservest to have me all; thou hast paid 
for me ten thousand times more than I am worth. No 
marvel that this made the water stand in my Husband's 
eyes, and that it made him trudge so nimbly on; I am per- 
suaded he wished me with him ; but, vile wretch that I was, 
I let him come all alone. O Mercy, that thy Father and 
Mother were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous also; nay, I wish 
now with all my heart that here was Madam Wanton too. 
Surely, surely, their hearts would be affected: nor could 
the fear of the one, nor the powerful lusts of the other, 
prevail with them to go home again, and to refuse to become 
good Pilgrims. 

GREAT-HEART. You speak now in the warmth of your 
affections: will it, think you, be always thus with you? 
Besides, this is not communicated to every one, nor to every 
one that did see your Jesus bleed. There was that stood 
by, and that saw the blood run from his heart to the ground, 
and yet were so far off this, that, instead of lamenting, they 


laughed at him; and instead of becoming his Disciples, did 
harden their hearts against him. So that all that you have, 
my Daughters, you have by a peculiar impression made by 
a divine contemplating upon what I have spoken to you. 
Remember that 'twas told you that the Hen by her common 
call gives no meat to her Chickens. This you have there- 
fore by a special Grace. 

Now I saw still in my Dream that they went on until 
they were come to the place that Simple and Sloth and Pre- 
sumption lay and slept in, when Christian went by on 
Pilgrimage. And behold they were hanged up in irons, a 
little way off on the other side. 

Behold here how the slothful are a sign, 

Hung up 'cause holy ways they did decline, 

See here too how the child doth play the man, 

And weak grow strong when Great-heart leads the van. 

MERCY. Then said Mercy to him that was their Guide 
and Conductor, What are those three men? and for what 
are they hanged there? 

GREAT-HEART. These three men were men of very bad 
qualities, they had no mind to be Pilgrims themselves, and 
whosoever they could they hindered. They were for sloth 
and folly themselves, and whoever they could persuade 
with, they made so too, and withal taught them to presume 
that they should do well at last. They were asleep when 
Christian went by, and now you go by they are hanged. 

MERCY. But could they persuade any to be of their 
opinion ? 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, they turned several out of the way. 
There was Slow-pace, that they persuaded to do as they. 
They also prevailed with one Short-wind, with one No-heart, 
with one Linger-after-lust, and with one Sleepy-head, and 
with a young woman, her name was Dull, to turn out of the 
way and become as they. Besides they brought up an ill 
report of your Lord, persuading others that he was a Task- 
master. They also brought up an evil report of the good 


Land, saying 'twas not half so good as some pretend it was. 
They also began to vilify his Servants, and to count the 
very best of them meddlesome, troublesome busybodies. 
Further, they would call the Bread of God Husks, the 
Comforts of his Children Fancies, the Travel and Labour 
of Pilgrims things to no purpose. 

CHRIS. Nay, said Christiana, if they were such, they 
shall never be bewailed by me. They have but what 
they deserve, and I think it is well that they hang so near 
the Highway that others may see and take warning. But 
had it not been well if their crimes had been engraven in 
some plate of iron or brass, and left here, even where they 
did their mischiefs, for a caution to other bad men ? 

GREAT-HEART. So it is, as you well may perceive if you 
will go a little to the Wall. 

MERCY. No, no, let them hang, and their names rot, 
and their crimes live for ever against them. I think it 
a high favour that they were hanged afore we came hither, 
who knows else what they might a done to such poor 
women as we are ? Then she turned it into a Song, saying, 

Now then, you three, hang there and be a sign 
To all that shall against the Truth combine. 
And let him that comes after fear this end, 
If unto Pilgrims he is not a Friend. 
And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
That unto Holiness opposers are. 

Thus they went on, till they came at the foot of the 
Hill Difficulty, where again their good Friend, Mr. Great- 
heart, took an occasion to tell them of what happened 
there when Christian himself went by. So he had them 
first to the Spring. Lo, saith he, this is the Spring that 
Christian drank of before he went up this Hill, and then 
'twas clear and good, but now 'tis dirty with the feet of 
some that are not desirous that Pilgrims here should quench 
their thirst. Thereat Mercy said, And why so envious, 
trow? But, said their Guide, it will do, if taken up, and put 
into a vessel that is sweet and good; for then the dirt will 


sink to the bottom, and the water will come out by itself 
more clear. Thus, therefore, Christiana and her Companions 
were compelled to do. They took it up, and put it into an 
earthen pot, and so let it stand till the dirt was gone to 
the bottom, and then they drank thereof. 

Next he shewed them the two byways that were at 
the foot of the Hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost 
themselves. And, said he, these are dangerous Paths. 
Two were here cast away when Christian came by; and 
although, as you see, these ways are since stopped up 
with chains, posts, and a ditch, yet there are that will 
choose to adventure here, rather than take the pains to 
go up this Hill. 

CHRIS. The way of transgressors is hard. 'Tis a wonder 
that they can get into those ways without danger of breaking 
their necks. 

GREAT-HEART. They will venture; yea, if at any time 
any of the King's servants doth happen to see them, and 
doth call unto them, and tell them that they are in the 
wrong ways, and do bid them beware the danger, then 
they will railingly return them answer and say, As for 
the word that thou hast spoken unto us in the name of 
of the King, we will not harken unto thee; but we will 
certainly do whatsoever thing goeth out of our own mouths, 
etc. Nay, if you look a little farther, you shall see that 
these ways are made cautionary enough, not only by these 
posts and ditch and chain, but also by being hedged up; 
yet they will choose to go there. 

CHRIS. They are idle, they love not to take pains, up- 
hill way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled unto 
them as it is written, The way of the slothful man is a Hedge 
of Thorns. Yea, they will rather choose to walk upon a 
Snare than to go up this Hill, and the rest of this way 
to the City. 

Then they set forward, and began to go up the Hill, 
and up the Hill they went; but before they got to the top, 


Christiana began to pant, and said, I dare say this is a 
breathing Hill. No marvel if they that love their ease 
more than their souls choose to themselves a smoother 
way. Then said Mercy, I must sit down; also the least 
of the Children began to cry. Come, come, said Great-heart, 
sit not down here, for a little above is the Prince's Arbour. 
Then took he the little Boy by the hand, and led him up 

When they were come to the Arbour, they were very 
willing to sit down, for they were all in a pelting heat. 
Then said Mercy, How sweet is rest to them that labour. 
And how good is the Prince of Pilgrims to provide such 
resting-places for them. Of this Arbour I have heard 
much, but I never saw it before. But here let us beware 
of sleeping; for as I have heard, for that it cost poor 
Christian dear. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to the little ones, Come, my 
pretty Boys, how do you do? What think you now of 
going on Pilgrimage? Sir, said the least, I was almost 
beat out of heart, but I thank you for lending me a hand 
at my need. And I remember now what my Mother 
has told me, namely, That the way to Heaven is as up a 
Ladder, and the way to Hell is as down a Hill. But I 
had rather go up the Ladder to Life, than down the Hill 
to Death. 

Then said Mercy, But the Proverb is, To go down the 
Hill is easy. But James said (for that was his name), The 
day is coming when, in my opinion, going down Hill will 
be the hardest of all. Tis a good Boy, said his Master, 
thou hast given her a right answer. Then Mercy smiled, 
but the little Boy did blush. 

CHRIS. Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bit, a little 
to sweeten your mouths, while you sit here to rest your 
legs? For I have here a piece of Pomegranate, which 
Mr. Interpreter put in my hand, just when I came out of 
his doors, He gave me also a piece of an Honeycomb, 


and a little Bottle of Spirits. I thought he gave you 
something, said Mercy, because he called you aside. Yes, 
so he did, said the other; but Mercy, it shall still be, 
as I said it should, when at first we came from home, thou 
shalt be a sharer in all the good that I have, because thou 
so willingly didst become my Companion. Then she 
gave to them, and they did eat, both Mercy and the Boys. 
And said Christiana to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, will you do 
as we? But he answered, You are going on Pilgrimage, 
and presently I shall return; much good may what you 
have do to you ; at home I eat the same every day. Now 
when they had eaten and drank, and had chatted a little 
longer, their Guide said to them, The day wears away, if 
you think good, let us prepare to be going. So they got up 
to go, and the little Boys went before. But Christiana 
forgot to take her Bottle of Spirits with her, so she sent 
her little Boy back to fetch it. Then said Mercy, I think 
this is a losing place. Here Christian lost his Roll, and here 
Christiana left her Bottle behind her : Sir, what is the cause 
of this? So their Guide made answer and said, The cause 
is sleep or f orgetf ulness : some sleep when they should 
keep awake, and some forget when they should remember; 
and this is the very cause why, often at the resting-places, 
some Pilgrims in some things come off losers. Pilgrims 
should watch, and remember what they have already 
received under their greatest enjoyments; but, for want 
of doing so, oft-times their Rejoicing ends in Tears, and 
their Sunshine in a Cloud : witness the story of Christian at 
this place. 

When they were come to the place where Mistrust 
and Timorous met Christian to persuade him to go back 
for fear of the Lions, they perceived as it were a Stage, and 
before it towards the Road a broad plate with a Copy of 
Verses written thereon ; and underneath, the reason of rais- 
ing up of that Stage in that place rendered. The verses 
were these: 


Let him that sees this Stage take heed 
Unto his Heart and Tongue; 
Lest if he do not, here he speed 
As some have long agone. 

The words underneath the Verses were, This Stage was 
built to punish such upon, who, through timorousness or 
mistrust, shall be afraid to go farther on Pilgrimage. Also 
on this Stage both Mistrust and Timorous were burned 
through the Tongue with an hot Iron, for endeavouring to 
hinder Christian in his Journey. 

Then said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of the 
Beloved, What shall be given unto thee? or what shall 
be done unto thee, thou false Tongue? Sharp Arrows of 
the mighty, with coals of Juniper. 

So they went on, till they came within sight of the Lions. 
Now Mr. Great-heart was a strong man, so he was not afraid 
of a Lion; but yet, when they were come up to the place 
where the Lions were, the Boys that went before were 
glad to cringe behind, for they were afraid of the Lions; 
so they stepped back, and went behind. At this their guide 
smiled, and said, How now, my Boys, do you love to go 
before when no danger doth approach, and love to come 
behind so soon as the Lions appear? 

Now, as they went up, Mr. Great-heart drew his Sword, 
with intent to make a way for the Pilgrims in spite of the 
Lions. Then there appeared one that it seems had taken 
upon him to back the Lions; and he said to the Pilgrims' 
Guide, What is the cause of your coming hither? Now 
the name of that man was Grim, or Bloody-man, because 
of his slaying of Pilgrims, and he was of the race of the 

GREAT-HEART. Then said the Pilgrims' Guide, These 
Women and Children are going on Pilgrimage, and this 
is the way they must go, and go it they shall in spite of thee 
and the Lions. 

GRIM. This is not their way, neither shall they go 


therein. I am come forth to withstand them, and to that 
end will back the Lions. 

Now to say truth, by reason of the fierceness of the 
Lions, and of the grim carriage of him that did back them, 
this way had of late lain much unoccupied, and was almost 
all grown over with Grass. 

CHRIS. Then said Christiana, Though the Highways have 
been unoccupied heretofore, and though the Travellers 
have been made in time past to walk through bypaths, 
it must not be so now I am risen, now I am risen a Mother 
in Israel. 

GRIM. Then he swore by the Lions but it should, and 
therefore bid them turn aside, for they should not have 
passage there. 

But their Guide made first his approach unto Grim, and 
laid so heavily at him with his sword, that he forced him 
to retreat. 

GRIM. Then said he that attempted to back the Lions, 
Will you slay me upon mine own ground ? 

GREAT-HEART. 'Tis the King's Highway that we are 
in, and in his way it is that thou hast placed thy Lions; 
but these Women and these Children, though weak, shall 
hold on their way in spite of thy Lions. And with that 
he gave him again a downright blow, and brought him 
upon his knees. With this blow he also broke his Helmet, 
and with the next he cut off an arm. Then did the Giant 
roar so hideously that his voice frightened the Women, and 
yet they were glad to see him lie sprawling upon the ground. 
Now the Lions were chained, and so of themselves could 
do nothing. Wherefore when old Grim that intended to 
back them was dead, Mr. Great-heart said to the Pilgrims, 
Come, now, and follow me, and no hurt shall happen to you 
from the Lions. They therefore went on, but the Women 
trembled as they passed by them; the Boys also looked 
as if they would die, but they all got by without further 


Now then they were within sight of the Porter's Lodge, 
and they soon came up unto it; but they made the more 
haste after this to go thither, because 'tis dangerous travel- 
ling there in the Night. So when they were come to the 
Gate, the Guide knocked, and the Porter cried, Who is 
there ? But as soon as the Guide had said, It is I, he knew 
his voice, and came down (for the Guide had oft before 
that come thither as a Conductor of Pilgrims). When he 
was come down, he opened the Gate, and seeing the Guide 
standing just before it (for he saw not the women, for they 
were behind him), he said unto him, How now, Mr. Great- 
heart? what is your business here so late to-night? I 
have brought, said he, some Pilgrims hither, where by my 
Lord's commandment they must lodge. I had been here 
some time ago, had I not been opposed by the Giant that 
did use to back the Lions; but I, after a long and tedious 
combat with him, have cut him off, and have brought 
the Pilgrims hither in safety. 

PORTER. Will you not go in, and stay till morning ? 

GREAT-HEART. No, I will return to my Lord to-night. 

CHRIS. O, Sir, I know not how to be willing you should 
leave us in our Pilgrimage; you have been so faithful and 
so loving to us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you 
have been so hearty in counselling of us, that I shall never 
forget your favour towards us. 

MERCY. Then said Mercy, Oh that we might have thy 
company to our Journey's end. How can such poor 
Women as we hold out in a way so full of troubles as this 
way is, without a Friend and Defender ? 

JAMES. Then said James, the youngest of the Boys, 
Pray, Sir, be persuaded to go with us, and help us, because 
we are so weak, and the way so dangerous as it is. 

GREAT-HEART. I am at my Lord's commandment. If 
he shall allot me to be your Guide quite through, I will 
willingly wait upon you. But here you failed at first; 
for when he bid me come thus far with you, then you 


should have begged me of him to have gone quite through 
with you, and he would have granted your request. How- 
ever, at present I must withdraw; and so, good Christiana, 
Mercy, and my brave Children, Adieu. 

Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her 
Country, and of her Kindred. And she said, I came from 
the City of Destruction; I am a Widow woman, and my 
Husband is dead; his name was Christian the Pilgrim. 
How, said the Porter, was he your Husband ? Yes, said she, 
and these are his Children; and this, pointing to Mercy, 
is one of my Townswomen. Then the Porter rang his 
bell, as at such times he is wont, and there came to the 
door one of the Damsels, whose name was Humble-mind. 
And to her the Porter said, Go tell it within that Christiana, 
the Wife of Christian, and her Children are come hither 
on Pilgrimage. She went in therefore and told it. But Oh 
what a noise for gladness was there within, when the 
Damsel did but drop that word out of her mouth. 

So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana 
stood still at the door. Then some of the most grave said 
unto her, Come in, Christiana ; come in, thou Wife of that 
good man; come in, thou blessed woman; -come in with all 
that are with thee. So she went in, and they followed her 
that were her Children and her Companions. Now when 
they were gone in, they were had into a very large room, 
where they were bidden to sit down; so they sat down, 
and the Chief of the house was called to see and welcome 
the Guests. Then they came in, and understanding who 
they were, did salute each other with a kiss, and said, 
Welcome, ye Vessels of the Grace of God, welcome to us, 
your Friends. 

Now because it was somewhat late, and because the 
Pilgrims were weary with their Journey, and also made faint 
with the sight of the Fight and of the terrible Lions, there- 
fore they desired as soon as might be to prepare to go to 
rest. Nay, said those of the Family, refresh yourselves 


first with a morsel of Meat. For they had prepared for 
them a Lamb, with the accustomed Sauce belonging thereto ; 
for the Porter had heard before of their coming, and had 
told it to them within. So when they had supped, and 
ended their Prayer with a Psalm, they desired they might 
go to rest. But let us, said Christiana, if we may be so 
bold as to choose, be in that Chamber that was my Husband's 
when he was here. So they had them up thither, and they 
all lay in a room. When they were at rest, Christiana 
and Mercy entered into discourse about things that were 

CHRIS. Little did I think once, that when my Husband 
went on Pilgrimage I should ever a followed. 

MERCY. And you as little thought of lying in his Bed 
and in his Chamber to rest, as you do now. 

CHRIS. And much less did I ever think of seeing his 
face with comfort, and of worshipping the Lord the King 
with him, and yet now I believe I shall. 

MERCY. Hark ; don't you hear a noise ? 

CHRIS. Yes; 'tis, as I believe, a noise of Music for joy 
that we are here. 

MERCY. Wonderful! Music in the House, Music in the 
Heart, and Music also in Heaven, for joy that we are here. 

Thus they talked awhile, and then betook themselves 
to sleep. So in the morning, when they were awake, 
Christiana said to Mercy : 

CHRIS. What was the matter that you did laugh in 
your sleep to-night ? I suppose you were in a Dream. 

MERCY. So I was; and a sweet Dream it was; but are 
you sure I laughed ? 

CHRIS. Yes, you laughed heartily; but prithee, Mercy, 
tell me thy dream. 

MERCY. I was a-dreaming that 1 sat all alone in a solitary 
place, and was bemoaning of the hardness of my Heart. 

Now I had not sat there long, but methought many 
were gathered about me, to see me, and to hear what it 


was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on be- 
moaning the hardness of my heart. At this some of them 
laughed at me, some called me Fool, and some began to 
thrust me about. . With that, methought I looked up, and 
saw one coming with Wings towards me. So he came 
directly to me, and said, Mercy, what aileth thee? Now 
when he had heard me make my complaint, he said, Peace 
be to thee. He also wiped mine eyes with his Handkerchief, 
and clad me in Silver and Gold : he put a Chain about my 
Neck, and Earrings in mine Ears, and a beautiful Crown 
upon my Head. Then he took me by the Hand, and said, 
Mercy, come after me. So he went up, and I followed, till 
we came at a Golden Gate. Then he knocked; and when 
they within had opened, the man went in, and I followed 
him up to a Throne, upon which one sat, and he said to 
me, Welcome, Daughter. The place looked bright and 
twinkling like the Stars, or rather like the Sun, and I 
thought that I saw your Husband there. So I awoke from 
my Dream. But did I laugh? 

CHRIS. Laugh: ay, and well you might, to see yourself 
so well. For you must give me leave to tell you that I 
believe it was a good Dream, and that as you have begun 
to find the first part true, so you shall find the second at 
last. God speaks once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it 
not. In a Dream, in a Vision of the night, when deep 
sleep f aileth upon men, in slumbering upon the bed. We 
need not, when abed, lie awake to talk with God. He can 
visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear his voice. 
Our heart ofttimes wakes when we sleep; and God can 
speak to that, either by Words, by Proverbs, by Signs and 
Similitudes, as well as if one was awake. 

MERCY. Well, I am glad of my Dream, for I hope ere 
long to see it fulfilled, to the making of me laugh again. 

CHRIS. I think it is now high time to rise, and to know 
what we must do. 

MERCY. Pray, if they invite us to stay a while, let us 


willingly accept of the proffer. I am the willinger to stay 
a while here, to grow better acquainted with these Maids. 
Methinks Prudence, Piety, and Charity have very comely 
and sober countenances. 

CHRIS. We shall see what they will do. So when they 
were up and ready, they came down. And they asked 
one another of their rest, and if it was comfortable or not. 

MERCY. Very good, said Mercy; it was one of the best 
night's Lodging that ever I had in my life. 

Then said Prudence and Piety, If you will be persuaded 
to stay here a while, you shall have what the house will 

CHAR. Ay, and that with a very good will, said Charity. 
So they consented, and stayed there about a month or 
above, and became very profitable one to another. And 
because Prudence would see how Christiana had brought 
up her Children, she asked leave of her to catechise them. 
So she gave her free consent. Then she began at the 
youngest, whose name was James. 

PRUDENCE. And she said, Come, James, canst thou 
tell who made thee ? 

JAMES. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
Holy Ghost. 

PRUD. Good Boy. And canst thou tell me who saves 

JAMES. God the Father, God the Son, and God the 
Holy Ghost. 

PRUD. Good Boy still. But how doth God the Father 
save thee? 

JAMES. By his Grace. 

PRUD. How doth God the Son save thee ? 

JAMES. By his Righteousness, Death, and Blood, and 

PRUD. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee ? 

JAMES. By his Illumination, by his Renovation, and 
by his Preservation. 


Then said Prudence to Christiana, You are to be com- 
mended for thus bringing up your Children. I suppose 
I need not ask the rest these questions, since the youngest 
of them can answer them so well; I will therefore now 
apply myself to the next youngest. 

PRUD. Then she said, Come, Joseph (for his name was 
Joseph), will you let me catechise you? 

JOSEPH. With all my heart. 

PRUD. What is Man ? 

JOSEPH. A Reasonable Creature, so made by God, as 
my Brother said. 

PRUD. What is supposed by this word saved ? 

JOSEPH. That Man by Sin has brought himself into a 
state of Captivity and Misery. 

PRUD. What is supposed by his being saved by the 

JOSEPH. That Sin is so great and mighty a Tyrant that 
none can pull us out of its clutches but God; and that 
God is so good and loving to man as to pull him indeed out 
of this miserable state. 

PRUD. What is God's design in saving of poor Men ? 

JOSEPH. The glorifying of his Name, of his Grace and 
Justice, etc., and the everlasting Happiness of his Creature. 

PRUD. Who are they that must be saved? 

JOSEPH. Those that accept of his Salvation. 

PRUD. Good Boy, Joseph; thy Mother has taught thee 
well, and thou hast hearkened to what she hath said unto 

Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but 

PRUD. Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should 
catechise you also ? 

SAMUEL. Yes, forsooth, if you pleas'e. 

PRUD. What is Heaven ? 

SAM. A place and state most blessed, because God 
dwelleth there. 


PRUD. What is Hell? 

SAM. A place and state most woeful, because it is the 
dwelling-place of Sin, the Devil, and Death. 

PRUD. Why wouldst thou go to Heaven ? 

SAM. That I may see God, and serve him without weari- 
ness; that I may see Christ, and love him everlastingly; 
that I may have that fulness of the Holy Spirit in me that 
I can by no means here enjoy. 

PRUD. A very good Boy also, and one that has learned 

Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose name 
was Matthew; and she said to him, Come, Matthew, shall 
I also catechise you ? 

MATTHEW. With a very good will. 

PRUD. I ask then, if there was ever anything that had 
a being antecedent to or before God? 

MATT. No, for God is eternal, nor is there anything 
excepting himself that had a being until the beginning 
of the first day. For in six days the Lord made Heaven 
and Earth, the Sea, and all that in them is. 

PRUD. What do you think of the Bible ? 

MATT. It is the Holy Word of God. 

PRUD. Is there nothing written therein but what you 
understand ? 

MATT. Yes, a great deal. 

PRUD. What do you do when you meet with such 
places therein that you do not understand ? 

MATT. I think God is wiser than I. I pray also that he 
will please to let me know all therein that he knows will 
be for my good. 

PRUD. How believe you as touching the Resurrection 
of the Dead? 

MATT. I believe they shall rise, the same that was 
buried, the same in nature, though not in corruption. And 
I believe this upon a double account. First, because God 
has promised it. Secondly, because he is able to perform it. 


Then said Prudence to the Boys, You must still hearken 
to your Mother, for she can learn you more. You must 
also diligently give ear to what good talk you shall hear from 
others, for for your sakes do they speak good things. Observe 
also, and that with carefulness, what the Heavens and the 
Earth do teach you ; but especially be much in the medita- 
tion of that Book that was the cause of your Father's becom- 
ing a Pilgrim. I, for my part, my Children, will teach you 
what I can while you are here, and shall be glad if you will 
ask me Questions that tend to godly edifying. 

Now by that these Pilgrims had been at this place a 
week, Mercy had a visitor that pretended some good will 
unto her, and his name was Mr. Brisk. A man of some 
breeding, and that pretended to Religion, but a man that 
stuck very close to the World. So he came once or twice 
or more to Mercy, and offered love unto her. Now 
Mercy was of a fair countenance, and therefore the more 

Her mind also was, to be always busying of herself in 
doing, for when she had nothing to do for herself she would 
be making of Hose and Garments for others, and would 
bestow them upon them that had need. And Mr. Brisk, 
not knowing where or how she disposed of what she made, 
seemed to be greatly taken for that he found her never 
idle. I will warrant her a good housewife, quoth he to 

Mercy then revealed the business to the Maidens that 
were of the house, and inquired of them concerning him, 
for they did know him better than she. So they told her 
that he was a very busy young man, and one that pre- 
tended to Religion, but was, as they feared, a stranger to 
the Power of that which was good. 

Nay, then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him, 
for I purpose never to have a clog to my soul. 

Prudence then replied, That there needed no great 
matter of discouragement to be given to him, her con- 


tinuing so as she had begun to do for the poor, would 
quickly cool his courage. 

So the next time he comes, he finds her at her old work, 
a making of things for the poor. Then said he, What, 
always at it ? Yes, said she, either for myself or for others. 
And what canst thou earn a day? quoth he. I do these 
things, said she, that I may be rich in Good Works, laying 
up in store a good Foundation against the time to come, that 
I may lay hold on Eternal Life. Why, prithee, what dost 
thou with them ? said he. Clothe the naked, said she. With 
that his countenance fell. So he forbore to come at her 
again. And when he was asked the reason why, he said that 
Mercy was a pretty lass, but troubled with ill conditions. 

When he had left her, Prudence said, Did I not tell 
thee that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake thee? yea, he will 
raise up an ill report of thee; for notwithstanding his 
pretence to Religion, and his seeming love to Mercy, yet 
Mercy and he are of tempers so different, that I believe 
they will never come together. 

MERCY. I might a had Husbands afore now, though I 
spake not of it to any; but they were such as did not like 
my Conditions, though never did any of them find fault 
with my Person. So they and I could not agree. 

PRUD. Mercy in our days is little set by any further 
than as to its Name; the Practice, which is set forth by 
thy Conditions, there are but few that can abide. 

MERCY. Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I 
will die a Maid, or my Conditions shall be to me as a 
Husband. For I cannot change my nature, and to have 
one that lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to 
admit of as long as I live. I had a Sister named Bountiful, 
that was married to one of these churls; but he and she 
could never agree; but because my Sister was resolved to 
do as she had begun, that is, to shew kindness to the poor, 
therefore her Husband first cried her down at the Cross, and 
then turned her out of his doors. 


PRUD. And yet he was a Professor, I warrant you. 

MERCY. Yes, such a one as he was, and of such as he 
the world is now full; but I am for none of them all. 

Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, and 
his sickness was sore upon him, for he was much pained in 
his Bowels, so that he was with it, at times, pulled as 'twere 
both ends together. There dwelt also not far from thence, 
one Mr. Skill, an ancient and well-approved Physician. So 
Christiana desired it, and they sent for him, and he came. 
When he was entered the room, and had a little observed 
the Boy, he concluded that he was sick of the Gripes. Then 
he said to his Mother, What diet has Matthew of late fed 
upon? Diet, said Christiana, nothing but that which is 
wholesome. The Physician answered, This Boy has been 
tampering with something that lies in his maw undigested, 
and that will not away without means. And I tell you he 
must be purged, or else he will die. 

SAM. Then said Samuel, Mother, Mother, what was 
that which my Brother did gather up and eat, so soon as 
we were come from the Gate that is at the head of this 
way? You know that there was an Orchard on the left 
hand, on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees 
hung over the wall, and my Brother did plash and did eat. 

CHRIS. True, my Child, said Christiana, he did take 
thereof and did eat, naughty Boy as he was. I did chide 
him, and yet he would eat thereof. 

SKILL. I knew he had eaten something that was not 
wholesome food, and that food, to wit, that Fruit, is even 
the most hurtful of all. It is the Fruit of Beelzebub's 
Orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you of it; 
many have died thereof. 

CHRIS. Then Christiana began to cry, and she said, O 
naughty Boy, and O careless Mother, what shall I do for 
my Son? 

SKILL. Come, do not be too much dejected; the Boy 
may do well again, but he must purge and vomit. 


CHRIS. Pray, Sir, try the utmost of your skill with him 
whatever it costs. 

SKILL. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. So he made 
him a Purge, but it was too weak. Twas said it was 
made of the Blood of a Goat, the Ashes of a Heifer, and 
with some of the Juice of Hyssop, etc. When Mr. Skill 
had seen that that Purge was too weak, he made him one 
to the purpose, 'twas made Ex Came et Sanguine Christi. 
(You know Physicians give strange Medicines to their 
Patients.) And it was made up into Pills, with a Promise 
or two, and a proportionable quantity of Salt. Now he 
was to take them three at a time fasting, in half a quarter 
of a pint of the Tears of Repentance. When this Potion 
was prepared and brought to the Boy he was loth to take it, 
though torn with the Gripes as ifhe should be pulled in pieces. 
Come, come, said the Physician, you must take it. It goes 
against my stomach, said the Boy. I must have you take 
it, said his Mother. I shall vomit it up again, said the Boy. 
Pray, Sir, said Christiana to Mr. Skill, how does it taste? 
It has no ill taste, said the Doctor, and with that she touched 
one of the Pills with the tip of her tongue. Oh, Matthew, 
said she, this Potion is sweeter than Honey. If thou 
lovest thy Mother, if thou lovest thy Brothers, if thou 
lovest Mercy, if thou lovest thy Life, take it. So with 
much ado, after a short prayer for the blessing of God 
upon it, he took it, and it wrought kindly with him. It 
caused him to purge, it caused him to sleep and rest quietly, 
it put him into a fine heat and breathing sweat, and did 
quite rid him of his Gripes. 

So in little time he got up and walked about with a 
staff, and would go from room to room, and talk with 
Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of his Distemper, and how 
he was healed. 

So when the Boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. Skill, 
saying, Sir, what will content you for your pains and care 
to and of my Child? And he said, You must pay the 


Master of the College of Physicians, according to rules 
made in that case and provided. 

CHRIS. But, Sir, said she, what is this Pill good for else? 

SKILL. It is a universal Pill, it is good against all the 
diseases that Pilgrims are incident to, and when it is well 
prepared, it will keep good time out of mind. 

CHRIS. Pray, Sir, make me up twelve boxes of them, 
for if I can get these, I will never take other Physic. 

SKILL. These Pill are good to prevent diseases, as well 
as to cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand 
to it, that if a man will but use this Physic as he should, 
it will make him live for ever. But, good Christiana, thou 
must give these Pills no other way but as I have prescribed, 
for if you do, they will do no good. So he gave unto Chris- 
tiana Physic for herself and her Boys and for Mercy, and bid 
Matthew take heed how he ate any more green Plums, 
and kissed them and went his way. 

It was told you before that Prudence bid the Boys, 
that if at any time they would, they should ask her some 
Questions that might be profitable, and she would say 
something to them. 

MATT. Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her, 
Why, for the most[/part, Physic should be bitter to our 
palates ? 

PRUD. To shew how unwelcome the Word of God and 
the effects thereof are to a Carnal Heart. 

MATT. Why does Physic, if it does good, purge, and 
cause that we vomit ? 

PRUD. To shew that the Word, when it works effectually, 
cleanseth the Heart and Mind. For look, what the one 
doth to the Body the other doth to the Soul. 

MATT. What should we learn by seeing the Flame of 
our Fire go upwards? and by seeing the Beams and sweet 
Influences of the Sun strike downwards ? 

PRUD. By the going up of the Fire we are taught to 
ascend to Heaven by fervent and hot desires; and by 


the Sun his sending his Heat Beams and sweet Influences 
downwards, we are taught that the Saviour of the world, 
though high, reaches down his Grace and Love to us below. 

MATT. Where have the Clouds their water? 

PRUD. Out of the Sea. 

MATT. What may we learn from that ? 

PRUD. That Ministers should fetch their Doctrine from 

MATT. Why do they empty themselves upon the Earth? 

PRUD. To shew that Ministers should give out what 
they know of God to the World. 

MATT. Why is the Rainbow caused by the Sun ? 

PRUD. To shew that the Covenant of God's Grace is 
confirmed to us in Christ. 

MATT. Why do the Springs come from the Sea to us 
through the Earth? 

PRUD. To shew that the Grace of God comes to us 
through the Body of Christ. 

MATT. Why do some of the Springs rise out of the 
tops of high Hills. 

PRUD. To shew that the Spirit of Grace shall spring up 
in some that are Great and Mighty, as well as in many 
that are Poor and Low. 

MATT. Why doth the Fire fasten upon the Candle wick ? 

PRUD. To shew that unless Grace doth kindle upon 
the Heart, there will be no true Light of Life in us. 

MATT. Why is the Wick and Tallow and all spent to 
maintain the light of the Candle ? 

PRUD. To shew that Body and Soul and all should 
be at the service of, and spend themselves to maintain in 
good condition, that Grace of God that is in us. 

MATT. Why doth the Pelican pierce her own Breast 
with her Bill? 

PRUD. To nourish her young ones with her Blood, and 
thereby to shew that Christ the blessed so loveth his young, 
his people, as to save them from Death by his Blood. 


MATT. What may one learn by hearing the Cock to 

PRUD. Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Peter's 
repentance. The Cock's crowing shews also that Day is 
coming on; let then the crowing of the Cock put thee in 
mind of that last and terrible Day of Judgment. 

Now about this time their month was out, wherefore 
they signified to those of the house that 'twas convenient 
for them to up and be going. Then said Joseph to his 
Mother, It is convenient that you forget not to send to the 
house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to grant that Mr. 
Great-heart should be sent unto us, that he may be our 
Conductor the rest of our way. Good Boy, said she, I had 
almost forgot. So she drew up a Petition, and prayed Mr. 
Watchful, the Porter, to send it by some fit man to her good 
Friend Mr. Interpreter; who, when it was come, and he 
had seen the contents of the Petition, said to the Messenger, 
Go, tell them that I will send him. 

When the Family where Christiana was, saw that they 
had a purpose to go forward, they called the whole house 
together, to give thanks to their King for sending to them 
such profitable Guests as these. Which done, they said to 
Christiana, And shall we not shew thee something, according 
as our custom is to do to Pilgrims, on which thou mayest 
meditate when thou art upon the way? So they took 
Christiana, her Children, and Mercy into the closet, and 
shewed them one of the Apples that Eve did eat of, and 
that she also did give to her Husband, and that for the 
eating of which they both were turned out of Paradise, and 
asked her what she thought that was? Then Christiana 
said, Tis Food or Poison, I know not which. So they 
opened the matter to her, and she held up her hands and 

Then they had her to a place, and shewed her Jacob's 
Ladder. Now at that time there were some Angels ascend- 
ing upon it. So Christiana looked and looked, to see the 


Angels go up, and so did the rest of the Company. Then 
they were going in to another place to shew them something 
else, but James said to his Mother, Pray bid them stay 
here a little longer, for this is a curious sight. So they 
turned again, and stood feeding their eyes with this so 
pleasant a prospect. After this they had them into a place 
where did hang up a Golden Anchor, so they bid Christiana 
take it down, For, said they, you shall have it with you, 
for 'tis of absolute necessity that you should, that you may 
lay hold of that within the veil, and stand steadfast, in case 
you should meet with turbulent weather. So they were 
glad thereof. Then they took them, and had them to the 
Mount upon which Abraham our Father had offered up 
Isaac his Son, and shewed them the Altar, the Wood, the 
Fire, and the Knife, for they remain to be seen to this 
very day. When they had seen it, they held up their hands 
and blest themselves, and said, Oh, what a man for love 
to his Master, and for denial to himself, was Abraham. 
After they had shewed them all these things, Prudence 
took them into the Dining-room, where stood a pair of 
excellent Virginals, so she played upon them, and turned 
what she had shewed them into this excellent song, saying, 

Eve's Apple we have shew'd you, 
Of that be you aware ; 
You have seen Jacob's Ladder too, 
Upon which Angels are. 

An Anchor you received have, 
But let not these suffice, 
Until with Abra'm you have gave 
Your best a Sacrifice. 

Now about this time one knocked at the door; so 
the Porter opened, and behold Mr. Great-heart was there; 
but when he was come in, what joy was there! For it 
came now fresh again into their minds how but a while 
ago he had slain old Grim Bloody-man the Giant, and had 
delivered them from the Lions. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to Christiana and to Mercy, 


My Lord has sent each of you a Bottle of Wine, and also 
some parched Corn, together with a couple of Pomegranates. 
He has also sent the Boys some Figs and Raisins to refresh 
you in your way. 

Then they addressed themselves to their Journey, and 
Prudence and Piety went along with them. When they 
came at the gate, Christiana asked the Porter if any of 
late went by? He said, No, only one some time since, 
who also told me that of late there had been a great robbery 
committed on the King's Highway, as you go; but he 
saith the thieves are taken, and will shortly be tried for 
their lives. Then Christiana and Mercy were afraid, but 
Matthew said, Mother, fear nothing, as long as Mr. Great- 
heart is to go with us and to be our Conductor. 

Then said Christiana to the Porter, Sir, I am much 
obliged to you for all the kindnesses that you have shewed 
me since I came hither, and also for that you have been 
so loving and kind to my Children. I know not how to 
gratify your kindness. Wherefore pray, as a token of my 
respects to you, accept of this small mite. So she put a gold 
Angel in his hand, and he made her a low obeisance, and 
said, Let thy Garments be always white, and let thy Head 
want no Ointment. Let Mercy live and not die, and 
let not her works be few. And to the Boys he said, Do 
you fly youthful lusts, and follow after Godliness with them 
that are grave and wise : so shall you put gladness into your 
Mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are sober- 
minded. So they thanked the Porter and departed. 

Now I saw in my Dream that they went forward until 
they were come to the brow of the Hill, where Piety, be- 
thinking herself, cried out, Alas! I have forgot what I 
intended to bestow upon Christiana and her Companions; 
I will go back and fetch it. So she ran and fetched it. 
While she was gone, Christiana thought she heard, in a 
Grove a little way off on the right hand, a most curious, 
melodious note, with words much like these 


Through all my Life thy Favour is 

So frankly shew'd to me. 
That in thy House for evermore 

My dwelling-place shall be. 

And listening still she thought she heard another answer 
it, saying 

For why? The Lord our God is good, 

His Mercy is for ever sure ; 
His Truth at all times firmly stood, 

And shall from age to age endure. 

So Christiana asked Prudence what 'twas that made 
those curious notes? They are, said she, our Country 
Birds; they sing these notes but seldom, except it be at 
the Spring, when the Flowers appear, and the Sun shines 
warm, and then you may hear them all day long. I often, 
said she, go out to hear them, we also ofttimes keep them 
tame in our house. They are very fine company for us 
when we are melancholy, also they make the Woods and 
Groves and Solitary places, places desirable to be in. 

By this time Piety was come again; so she said to 
Christiana, Look here, I have brought thee a scheme of 
all those things that thou hast seen at our house, upon 
which thou mayest look when thou findest thyself forget- 
ful, and call those things again to remembrance for thy 
edification and comfort. 

Now they began to go down the Hill into the Valley 
of Humiliation. It was a steep Hill, and the way was 
slippery; but they were very careful, so they got down 
pretty well. When they were down in the Valley, Piety 
said to Christiana, This is the place where Christian your 
Husband met with that foul Fiend Apollyon, and where 
they had that dreadful Fight that they had; I know you 
cannot but have heard thereof. But be of good courage; 
as long as you have here Mr. Great-heart to be your Guide 
and Conductor, we hope you will fare the better. So when 
these two had committed the Pilgrims unto the conduct 
of their Guide, he went forward and they went after. 


GREAT-HEART. Then said Mr. Great-heart, we need not 
to be so afraid of this Valley, for here is nothing to hurt 
us unless we procure it to ourselves. Tis true, Christian 
did here meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a 
sore Combat; but that fray was the fruit of those slips 
that he got in his going down the Hill; for they that get 
slips there must look for combats here. And hence it is 
that this Valley has got so hard a name; for the common 
people when they hear that some frightful thing has befallen 
such a one in such a place, are of an opinion that that place 
is haunted with some foul Fiend or evil Spirit: when, 
alas, it is for the fruit of their doing that such things do 
befall them there. 

This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a 
place as any the Crow flies over ; and I am persuaded if we 
could hit upon it, we might find somewhere hereabouts 
something that might give us an account why Christian 
was so hardly beset in this place. 

Then James said to his Mother, Lo, yonder stands a 
Pillar, and it looks as if something was written thereon; 
let us go and see what it is. So they went, and found there 
written, Let Christian's slips before he came hither, and 
the Battles that he met with in this place, be a warning 
to those that come after. Lo, said their Guide, did not 
I tell you that there was something hereabouts that would 
give intimation of the reason why Christian was so hard 
beset in this place? Then turning himself to Christiana, 
he said, No disparagement to Christian more than to many 
others whose hap and lot his was; for 'tis easier going up 
than down this Hill, and that can be said but of few Hills 
in all these parts of the world. But we will leave the good 
man, he is at rest, he also had a brave Victory over his 
Enemy; let him grant that dwelleth above, that we fare 
no worse when we come to be tried than he. 

But we will come again to this Valley of Humiliation. 
It is the best and most fruitful piece of ground in all those 


parts. It is fat ground, and as you see, consisteth much 
in meadows; and if a man was to come here in the Summer- 
time, as we do now, if he knew not anything before thereof, 
and if he also delighted himself in the sight of his eyes, he 
might see that that would be delightful to him. Behold 
how green this Valley is, also how beautified with Lilies. 
I have also known many labouring men that have got good 
estates in this Valley of Humiliation (for God resisteth the 
Proud, but gives more Grace to the Humble), for indeed it 
is a very fruitful soil, and doth bring forth by handfuls. 
Some also have wished that the next way to their Father's 
house were here, that they might be troubled no more with 
either Hills or Mountains to go over; but the way is the way, 
and there's an end. 

Now as they were going along and talking, they espied 
a Boy feeding his Father's Sheep. The Boy was in very 
mean clothes, but of a very fresh and well-favoured coun- 
tenance, and as he sat by himself, he sung. Hark, said 
Mr. Great-heart, to what the Shepherd's Boy saith. So 
they hearkened, and he said, 

He that is down needs fear no fall, 
He that is low, no pride; 
He that is humble, ever shall 
Have God to be his Guide. 

I am content with what I have, 
Little be it, or much : 
And Lord, contentment still I crave, 
Because thou savest such. 

Fulness to such a burden is 
That go on Pilgrimage; 
Here little, and hereafter Bliss, 
Is best from age to age. 

Then said their Guide, Do you hear him? I will dare 
to say that this Boy lives a merrier life, and wears more 
of that Herb called Heart's-ease in his bosom, than he 
that is clad in Silk and Velvet; but we will proceed in our 

In this Valley our Lord formerly had his Country-house; 
he loved much to be here; he loved also to walk these 


Meadows, for he found the air was pleasant. Besides, here 
a man shall be free from the noise, and from the hurryings 
of this life. All states are full of Noise and Confusion, 
only the Valley of Humiliation is that empty and solitary 
place. Here a man shall not be so let and hindered in 
his Contemplation as in other places he is apt to be. This 
is a Valley that nobody walks in but those that love a 
Pilgrim's life. And though Christian had the hard hap to 
meet here with Apollyon, and to enter with him a brisk 
encounter, yet I must tell you that in former times men 
have met with Angels here, have found Pearls here, and 
have in this place found the words of Life. 

Did I say our Lord had here in former days his Country- 
house, and that he loved here to walk? I will add, in 
this place, and to the people that live and trace these 
Grounds, he has left a yearly revenue to be faithfully 
paid them at certain seasons, for their maintenance by 
the way, and for their further encouragement to go on in 
their Pilgrimage. 

SAMUEL. Now as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. 
Great-heart, Sir, I perceive that in this Valley my Father 
and Apollyon had their Battle, but whereabout was the 
Fight, for I perceive this Valley is large ? 

GREAT-HEART. Your Father had that Battle with 
Apollyon at a place yonder before us, in a narrow passage 
just beyond Forgetful Green. And indeed that place is 
the most dangerous place in all these parts. For if at any 
time the Pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they 
forget what favours they have received, and how unworthy- 
they are of them. This is the place also where others 
have been hard put to it; but more of the place when we 
are come to it; for I persuade myself that to this day 
there remains either some sign of the Battle, or some 
Monument to testify that such a Battle there was fought. 

MERCY. Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this 
Valley as I have been anywhere else in all our Journey; 


the place methinks suits with my spirit. I love to be in 
such places where there is no rattling with Coaches, nor 
rumbling with Wheels. Methinks here one may without 
much molestation be thinking what he is, whence he came, 
what he has done, and to what the King has called him. 
Here one may think, and break at heart, and melt in one's 
spirit, until one's eyes become like the Fishpools of Heshbon. 
They that go rightly through this Valley of Baca make it 
a well ; the Rain that God sends down from Heaven upon 
them that are here also filleth the Pools. This Valley is 
that from whence also the King will give to their vine- 
yards, and they that go through it shall sing, as Christian 
did, for^all he met with Apollyon. 

GREAT-HEART. Tis true, said their Guide, I have 
gone through this Valley many a time, and never was better 
than when here. 

I have also been a Conduct to several Pilgrims, and 
they have confessed the same: To this man will I look, 
saith the King, even to him that is Poor, and of a Contrite 
Spirit, and that trembles at my Word. 

Now they were come to the place where the afore- 
mentioned Battle was fought. Then said the Guide to 
Christiana, her Children, and Mercy, This is the place, 
on this ground Christian stood, and up there came Apollyon 
against him. And look, did not I tell you? Here is some 
of your Husband's Blood upon these stones to this day; 
behold also how here and there are yet to be seen upon 
the place some of the shivers of Apollyon's broken Darts. 
See also how they did beat the ground with their feet as 
they fought, to make good their places against each other, 
how also with their by-blows they did split the very stones 
in pieces. Verily Christian did here play the man, and 
shewed himself as stout as could, had he been there, even 
Hercules himself. When Apollyon was beat, he made 
his retreat to the next Valley, that is called the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come anon. 


Lo, yonder also stands a Monument, on which is engraven 
this Battle, and Christian's Victory, to his fame through- 
out all ages. So because it stood just on the way-side 
before them, they stepped to it and read the writing, which 
word for word was this, 

Hard by here was a Battle fought, 
Most strange, and yet most true; 
Christian and Apollyon sought 
Each other to subdue. 

The Man so bravely play'd the Man, 
He made the Fiend to fly; 
Of which a Monument I stand, 
The same to testify. 

When they had passed by this place, they came upon 
the borders of the Shadow of Death; and this Valley was 
longer than the other; a place also most strangely haunted 
with evil things, as many are able to testify. But these 
Women and Children went the better through it because 
they had daylight, and because Mr. Great-heart was their 

When they were entered upon this Valley, they thought 
that they heard a groaning as of dead men, a very great 
groaning. They thought also they did hear words of 
Lamentation spoken, as of some in extreme Torment. 
These things made the Boys to quake, the Women also 
looked pale and wan; but their Guide bid them be of good 

So they went on a little farther, and they thought that 
they felt the ground begin to shake under them, as if some 
hollow place was there; they heard also a kind of a hissing 
as of Serpents, but nothing as yet appeared. Then said 
the Boys, Are we not yet at the end of this doleful place? 
But the Guide also bid them be of good courage, and look 
well to their feet, lest haply, said he, you be taken in some 

Now James began to be sick, but I think the cause 
thereof was fear; so his Mother gave him some of that 


glass of Spirits that she had given her at the Interpreter's 
house, and three of the Pills that Mr. Skill had prepared, 
and the Boy began to revive. Thus they went on till they 
came to about the middle of the Valley, and then Christiana 
said, Methinks I see something yonder upon the road before 
us, a thing of such a shape as I have not seen. Then said 
Joseph, Mother, what is it? An ugly thing, Child, an 
ugly thing, said she. But, Mother, what is it like ? said he. 
'Tis like I cannot tell what, said she. And now it was 
but a little way off. Then said she, It is nigh. 

Well, well, said Mr. Great-heart, Let them that are most 
afraid keep close to me. So the Fiend came on, and the 
Conductor met it; but when it was just come to him, 
it vanished to all their sights. Then remembered they what 
had been said some time ago, Resist the Devil, and he will 
fly from you. 

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed; 
but they had not gone far, before Mercy, looking behind 
her, saw, as she thought, something most like a Lion, 
and it came a great padding pace after; and it had a 
hollow Voice of Roaring, and at every Roar that it gave it 
made all the Valley echo, and their hearts to ache, save 
the heart of him that was their Guide. So it came up, 
and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and put the Pilgrims all 
before him. The Lion also came on apace, and Mr. Great- 
heart addressed himself to give him Battle. But when 
he saw that it was determined that resistance should be 
made, he also drew back and came no farther. 

Then they went on again, and their Conductor did go 
before them, till they came at a place where was cast up 
a Pit the whole breadth of the way, and before they could 
be prepared to go over that, a great Mist and a Darkness 
fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then said the 
Pilgrims, Alas! now what shall we do? But their Guide 
made answer, Fear not, stand still and see what an end 
will be put to this also. So they stayed there because their 



path was marr'd. They then also thought that they did 
hear more apparently the noise and rushing of the Enemies; 
the fire also and the smoke of the Pit was much easier 
to be discerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, Now I 
see what my poor Husband went through; I have heard 
much of this place, but I never was here afore now. Poor 
man, he went here all alone in the night; he had night 
almost quite through the way ; also these Fiends were busy 
about him, as if they would have torn him in pieces. Many 
have spoken of it, but none can tell what the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death should mean, until they come in it 
themselves. The heart knows its own Bitterness, and a 
stranger intermeddleth not with its Joy. To be here is a 
fearful thing. 

GREAT-HEART. This is like doing business in great 
Waters, or like going down into the deep ; this is like being 
in the heart of the Sea, and like going down to the bottoms 
of the Mountains; now it seems as if the Earth with its 
bars were about us for ever. But let them that walk in 
Darkness and have no Light, trust in the name of the 
Lord, and stay upon their God. For my part, as I have told 
you already, I have gone often through this Valley, and 
have been much harder put to it than now I am, and yet 
you see I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not 
mine own saviour, but I trust we shall have a good Deliver- 
ance. Come, let us pray for Light to him that can lighten 
our Darkness, and that can rebuke not only these, but all 
the Satans in Hell. 

So they cried and prayed, and God sent Light and 
Deliverance, for there was now no let in their way no, 
not there where but now they were stopped with a Pit. 
Yet they were not got through the Valley; so they went 
on still, and behold great stinks and loathsome smells, to 
the great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Chris- 
tiana, There is not such pleasant being here as at the Gate, 
or at the Interpreter's, or at the house where we lay last. 


Oh, but, said one of the Boys, it is not so bad to go 
through here as it is to abide here always; and for aught 
I know, one reason why we must go this way to the house 
prepared for us is, that our home might be made the sweeter 
to us. 

Well said, Samuel, quoth the Guide, thou hast now 
spoken like a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, said 
the Boy, I think I shall prize light and good way better 
than ever I did in all my life. Then said the Guide, We 
shall be out by and by. 

So on they went, and Joseph said, Cannot we see to 
the end of this Valley as yet ? Then said the Guide, Look 
to your feet, for you shall presently be among the Snares. 
So they looked to their feet and went on, but they were 
troubled much with the Snares. Now when they were 
come among the Snares, they espied a man cast into the 
Ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. 
Then said the Guide, That is one Heedless, that was 
a-going this way; he has lain there a great while. There 
was one Take-heed with him when he was taken and slain, 
but he escaped their hands. You cannot imagine how 
many are killed hereabout, and yet men are so foolishly 
venturous as to set out lightly on Pilgrimage, and to come 
without a Guide. Poor Christian, it was a wonder that he 
here escaped; but he was beloved of his God, also he had 
a good heart of his own, or else he could never a done it. 
Now they drew towards the end of the way, and just there 
where Christian had seen the Cave when he went by, out 
thence came forth Maul, a Giant. This Maul did use to 
spoil young Pilgrims with Sophistry; and he called Great- 
heart by his name, and said unto him, How many times 
have you been forbidden to do these things? Then said 
Mr. Great-heart, What things? What things? quoth the 
Giant; you know what things; but I will put an end to 
your trade. But pray, said Mr. Great-heart, before we 
fall to it, let us understand wherefore we must fight. Now 


the Women and Children stood trembling, and knew not 
what to do. Quoth the Giant, You rob the Country, and 
rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but generals, 
said Mr. Great-heart; come to particulars, man. 

Then said the Giant, Thou practisest the craft of a 
Kidnapper, thou gatherest up Women and Children, and 
earnest them into a strange Country, to the weakening 
of my master's Kingdom. But now, Great-heart replied, 
I am a servant of the God of Heaven ; my business is to 
persuade sinners to repentance; I am commanded to do 
my endeavour to turn Men, Women, and Children from 
darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God; 
and if this be indeed the ground of thy quarrel, let us fall to 
it as soon as thou wilt. 

Then the Giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to 
meet him; and as he went he drew his Sword, but the 
Giant had a Club. So without more ado they fell to it, 
and at the first blow the Giant struck Mr. Great-heart 
down upon one of his knees; with that the Women and 
Children cried out ; so Mr. Great-heart, recovering himself, 
laid about him in full lusty manner, and gave the Giant 
a wound in his arm; thus he fought for the space of an 
hour to that height of heat, that the breath came out of 
the Giant's nostrils as the heat doth out of a boiling Caldron. 

Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr. Great-heart 
betook him to prayer; also the Women and Children did 
nothing but sigh and cry all the time that the Battle did 

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they 
both fell to it again, and Mr. Great-heart, with a full blow, 
fetched the Giant down to the ground. Nay, hold and 
let me recover, quoth he. So Mr. Great-heart fairly let him 
get up. So to it they went again, and the Giant missed 
but little of all to breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his 

Mr. Great-heart, seeing that, runs to him in the full heat 


of his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib; with 
that the Giant began to faint, and could hold up his Club 
no longer. Then Mr. Great-heart seconded his blow, and 
smote the head of the Giant from his shoulders. Then the 
Women and Children rejoiced, and Mr. Great-heart also 
praised God for the deliverance he had wrought. 

When this was done, they among them erected a Pillar, 
and fastened the Giant's head thereon, and wrote under- 
neath in letters that Passengers might read, 

He that did wear this head, was one 
That Pilgrims did misuse; 
He stopt their way, he spared none. 
But did them all abuse; 
Until that I, Great-heart, arose, 
The Pilgrims' Guide to be; 
Until that I did him oppose, 
That was their Enemy. 

Now I saw that they went to the Ascent that was a 
little way off cast up to be a Prospect for Pilgrims (that 
was the place from whence Christian had the first sight 
of Faithful, his Brother) ; wherefore here they sat down and 
rested, they also here did eat and drink and make merry, 
for that they had gotten deliverance from this so dangerous 
Enemy. As they sat thus and did eat, Christiana asked the 
Guide if he had caught no hurt in the Battle. Then said 
Mr. Great-heart, No, save a little on my flesh; yet that 
also shall be so far from being to my determent, that it is 
at present a proof of my love to my Master and you, and 
shall be a means by Grace to increase my reward at last. 

CHRIS. But were you not afraid, good Sir, when you 
saw him come out with his club ? 

GREAT-HEART. It is my duty, said he, to distrust mine 
own ability, that I may have reliance on him that is stronger 
than all. 

CHRIS. But what did you think when he fetched you 
down to the ground at the first blow? 

GREAT-HEART. Why, I thought, quoth he, that so my 


Master himself was served, and yet he it was that conquered 
at the last. 

MATT. When you all have thought what you please, 
I think God has been wonderfully good unto us, both in 
bringing us out of this Valley, and in delivering us out 
of the hand of this Enemy; for my part, I see no reason 
why we should distrust our God any more, since he has 
now and in such a place as this given us such testimony of 
his love as this. 

Then they got up and went forward. Now a little 
before them stood an Oak, and under it, when they came 
to it, they found an old Pilgrim fast asleep; they knew 
that he was a Pilgrim by his Clothes and his Staff and his 

So the Guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him, and the 
old Gentleman, as he lifted up his eyes, cried out, What's 
the matter! who are you? and what is your business 

GREAT-HEART. Come, man, be not so hot, here is none 
but Friends; yet the old man gets up and stands upon 
his guard, and will know of them what they were. Then 
said the Guide, My name is Great-heart; I am the Guide 
of these Pilgrims which are going to the Celestial Country. 

HONEST. Then said Mr. Honest, I cry you mercy; I 
fear'd that you had been of the company of those that 
some time ago did rob Little-faith of his money; but now 
I look better about me, I perceive you are honester people. 

GREAT-HEART. Why, what would or could you a done 
to a helped yourself, if we indeed had been of that company ? 

HON. Done! why, I would a fought as long as breath 
had been in me; and had I so done, I am sure you could 
never have given me the worst on't; for a Christian can 
never be overcome, unless he shall yield of himself. 

GREAT-HEART. Well said, Father Honest, quoth the 
Guide, for by this I know thou art a cock of the right 
kind, for thou hast said the truth. 


HON. And by this also I know that thou knowest what 
true Pilgrimage is, for all others do think that we are the 
soonest overcome of any. 

GREAT-HEART. Well, now we are so happily met, pray 
let me crave your name, and the name of the place you 
came from. 

HON. My name I cannot, but I came from the Town of 
Stupidity; it lieth about four degrees beyond the City of 

GREAT-HEART. Oh ! are you that Countryman then ? I 
deem I have half a guess of you ; your name is Old Honesty, 
is it not? So the old Gentleman blushed, and said, Not 
Honesty in the abstract, but Honest is my name, and I 
wish that my nature shall agree to what I am called. 

HON. But, Sir, said the old Gentleman, how could you 
guess that I am such a man, since I came from such a 
place ? 

GREAT-HEART. I had heard of you before, by my Master, 
for he knows all things that are done on the Earth; but 
I have often wondered that any should come from your 
place, for your Town is worse than is the City of Destruction 

HON. Yes, we lie more off from the Sun, and so are 
more cold and senseless; but were a man in a Mountain of 
Ice, yet if the Sun of Righteousness will arise upon him, 
his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; and thus it hath been 
with me. 

GREAT-HEART. I believe it, Father Honest, I believe it, 
for I know the thing is true. 

Then the old Gentleman saluted all the Pilgrims with 
a holy kiss of charity, and asked them of their names, and 
how they had fared since they set out on their Pilgrimage. 

CHRIS. Then said Christiana, My name I suppose you 
have heard of; good Christian was my Husband, and these 
four are his Children. 

But can you think how the old Gentleman was taken 


when she toldjthem who she was! He skipped, he smiled, 
and blessed them with a thousand good wishes, saying: 

HON. I have heard much of your Husband, and of his 
Travels and Wars which he underwent in his days. Be 
it spoken to your comfort, the name of your Husband rings 
over all these parts of the world ; his Faith,, his Courage, 
his Enduring, and his Sincerity under all, has made his 
name famous. Then he turned him to the Boys, and 
asked them of their names, which they told him. And then 
said he unto them, Matthew, be thou like Matthew the 
Publican, not in vice, but in virtue. Samuel, said he, be 
thou like Samuel the Prophet, a man of faith and prayer. 
Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, 
chaste, and one that flies from temptation. And James, 
be thou like James the Just, and like James the Brother of 
our Lord. 

Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left 
her Town and her Kindred to come along with Christiana 
and with her Sons. At that the old honest man said, Mercy 
is thy name ? by Mercy shalt thou be sustained, and carried 
through all those difficulties that shall assault thee in thy 
way, till thou shalt come thither where thou shalt look the 
Fountain of Mercy in the face with comfort. 

All this while the Guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very much 
pleased, and smiled upon his Companion. 

Now, as they walked along together, the Guide asked 
the old Gentleman if he did not know one Mr. Fearing, that 
came on Pilgrimage out of his parts ? 

HON. Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had 
the root of the matter in him, but he was one of the most 
troublesome Pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days. 

GREAT-HEART. I perceive you knew him, for you have 
given a very right character of him. 

HON. Knew him! I was a great Companion of his; 
I was with him most an end; when he first began to think 
of what would come upon us hereafter, I was with him. 


GREAT-HEART. I was his Guide from my Master's house 
to the gates of the Celestial City. 

HON. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. 

GREAT-HEART. I did so, but I could very well bear it, 
for men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the 
conduct of such as he was. 

HON. Well, then, pray let us hear a little of him, and 
how he managed himself under your conduct. 

GREAT-HEART. Why, he was always afraid that he should 
come short of whither he had a desire to go. Everything 
frightened him that he heard anybody speak of, that had 
but the least appearance of opposition in it. I hear that he 
lay roaring at the Slough of Despond for above a month 
together, nor durst he, for all he saw several go over before 
him, venture, though they, many of them, offered to lend 
him their hand. He would not go back again neither. 
The Celestial City, he said, he should die if he came not to 
it, and yet was dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled 
at every Straw that anybody cast in his way. Well, after 
he had lain at the Slough of Despond a great while, as I 
have told you, one Sunshiny morning, I do not know how, 
he ventured, and so got over. But when he was over, 
he would scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of 
Despond in his mind, a Slough that he carried everywhere 
with him, or else he would never have been as he was. So 
he came up to the Gate, you know what I mean, that stands 
at the head of this way, and there also he stood a good 
while before he would adventure to knock. When the Gate 
was opened he would give back, and give place to others, 
and say that he was not worthy; for, for all he got before 
some to the Gate, yet many of them went in before him. 
There the poor man would stand shaking and shrinking, 
I dare say it would have pitied one's heart to have seen 
him, nor would he go back again. At last he took the 
Hammer that hung on the Gate in his hand, and gave a 
small Rap or two; then one opened to him, but he shrank 


back as before. He that opened stepped out after him, 
and said, Thou trembling one, what wantest thou? With 
that he fell to the ground. He that spoke to him wondered 
to see him so faint. So he said to him, Peace be to thee; 
up, for I have set open the door to thee ; come in, for thou 
art blest. With that he got up, and went in trembling, 
and when he was in, he was ashamed to shew his face. 
Well, after he had been entertained there a while, as you 
know how the manner is, he was bid go on his way, and 
also told the way he should take. So he came till he came 
to our house. But as he behaved himself at the Gate, so 
he did at my Master the Interpreter's door. He lay there- 
about in the cold a good while, before he would adventure 
to call, yet he would not go back, and the nights were long 
and cold then. Nay, he had a Note of Necessity in his bosom 
to my Master, to receive him and grant him the comfort 
of his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant 
Conduct because he was himself so chicken-hearted a man; 
and yet for all that he was afraid to call at the door. So 
he lay up and down thereabouts till, poor man, he was 
almost starved. Yea, so great was his Dejection, that though 
he saw several others for knocking get in, yet he was afraid 
to venture. At last, I think, I looked out of the window, 
and perceiving a man to be up and down about the door, 
I went out to him, and asked what he was; but, poor man, 
the water stood in his eyes; so I perceived what he wanted. 
I went therefore in and told it in the house, and we shewed 
the thing to our Lord. So he sent me out again, to venture 
him to come in; but I dare say I had hard work to do it. 
At last he came in, and I will say that for my Lord, he 
carried it wonderfully lovingly to him. There were but a 
few good bits at the Table, but some of it was laid upon 
his trencher. Then he presented the Note, and my Lord 
looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. So 
when he had been there a good while, he seemed to get 
some heart, and to be a little more comfortable; for my 


Master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, 
specially to them that are afraid; wherefore he carried it 
so towards him as might tend most to his encouragement. 
Well, when he had had a sight of the things of the place, 
and was ready to take his Journey to go to the City, my 
Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him a Bottle of 
Spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we set 
forward, and I went before him; but the man was but of 
few words, only he would sigh aloud. 

When we were come to where the three fellows were 
hanged, he said that he doubted that that would be his 
end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the Cross and 
the Sepulchre. There, I confess, he desired to stay a little 
to look, and he seemed for a while after to be a little cheery. 
When we came at the Hill Difficulty, he made no stick at 
that, nor did he much fear the Lions, for you must know 
that his trouble was not about such things as those, his fear 
was about his acceptance at last. 

I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think before he 
was willing. Also when he was in, I brought him acquainted 
with the Damsels that were of the place, but he was ashamed 
to make himself much for company. He desired much to 
be alone, yet he always loved good talk, and often would 
get behind the Screen to hear it. He also loved much to 
see ancient things, and to be pondering them in his mind. 
He told me afterwards that he loved to be in those two 
houses from which he came last, to wit, at the Gate, and 
that of the Interpreter's, but that he durst not be so bold 
to ask. 

When we went also from the House Beautiful, down 
the Hill into the Valley of Humiliation, he went down as 
well as ever I saw man in my life; for he cared not how 
mean he was, so he might be happy at last. Yea, I think 
there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that Valley and him, 
for I never saw him better in all his Pilgrimage than when he 
was in that Valley. 


Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss 
the very Flowers that grew in this Valley. He would now 
be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walking 
to and fro in this Valley. 

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have lost my 
man ; not for that he had any inclination to go back that 
he always abhorred; but he was ready to die for fear. Oh, 
the Hobgoblins will have me, the Hobgoblins will have me, 
cried he, and I could not beat him out on't. He made 
such a noise and such an outcry here, that had they but 
heard him, 'twas enough to encourage them to come and 
fall upon us. 

But this I took very great notice of, that this Valley 
was as quiet while he went through it as ever I knew it 
before or since. I suppose these Enemies here had now a 
special check from our Lord, and a command not to meddle 
until Mr. Fearing was past over it. 

It would be too tedious to tell you of all. We will, 
therefore, only mention a passage or two more. When he 
was come at Vanity Fair, I thought he would have fought 
with all the men in the Fair. I feared there we should 
both have been knock' d o' the head, so hot was he against 
their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also 
very wakeful. But when he was come at the River where 
was no Bridge, there again he was in a heavy case. Now, 
now, he said, he should be drowned for ever, and so never 
see that face with comfort that he had come so many miles 
to behold. 

And here also I took notice of what was very remark- 
able : the Water of that River was lower at this time than 
ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over at last, not 
much above wet-shod. When he was going up to the Gate, 
Mr. Great-heart began to take his leave of him, and to wish 
him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, I shall. 
Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no more. 


HON. Then it seems he was well at last. 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, yes; I never had doubt about him; 
he was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept 
very low, and that made his life so burdensome to himself, 
and so troublesome to others. He was above many tender 
of sin. He was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he 
often would deny himself of that which was lawful because 
he would not offend. 

HON. But what should be the reason that such a good 
man should be all his days so much in the dark ? 

GREAT-HEART. There are two sorts of reasons for it. 
One is, the wise God will have it so; some must pipe and 
some must weep. Now Mr. Fearing was one that played 
upon this Base; he and his fellows sound the Sackbut, 
whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other Music 
are; though indeed some say the Base is the Ground of 
Music. And for my part, I care not at all for that profes- 
sion that begins not in heaviness of mind. The first string 
that the Musician usually touches is the Base, when he 
intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string 
first, when he sets the soul in tune for himself. Only here 
was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing : he could play upon no 
other Music but this, till towards his latter end. 

I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripening 
of the Wits of young Readers; and because in the Book 
of the Revelations, the saved are compared to a company 
of Musicians that play upon their Trumpets and Harps, 
and sing their Songs before the Throne. 

HON. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by 
what relation you have given of him. Difficulties, Lions, 
or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all. Twas only Sin, Death, 
and Hell that was to him a terror, because he had some 
doubts about his interest in that Celestial Country. 

GREAT-HEART. You say right. Those were the things 
that were his troublers, and they, as you have well observed, 
arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, not from 


weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a Pilgrim's 
life. I dare believe that, as the Proverb is, he could have 
bit a Firebrand, had it stood in his way; but the things 
with which he was oppressed no man ever yet could shake 
off with ease. 

CHRIS. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fear- 
ing has done me good. I thought nobody had been like 
me, but I see there was some semblance 'twixt this good man 
and I, only we differed in two things. His troubles were so 
great they brake out, but mine I kept within. His also 
lay so hard upon him, they made him that he could not 
knock at the houses provided for Entertainment; but my 
trouble was always such as made me knock the louder. 

MERCY. If I might also speak my heart, I must say 
that something of him has also dwelt in me; for I have 
ever been more afraid of the Lake and the loss of a place 
in Paradise than I have been of the loss of other things. 
Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habita- 
tion there, 'tis enough, though I part with all the world 
to win it. 

MATT. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that 
made me think that I was far from having that within me 
that accompanies Salvation; but if it was so with such a 
good man as he, why may it not also go well with me ? 

JAMES. No fears, no Grace, said James. Though there 
is not always Grace where there is the fear of Hell, yet to 
be sure there is no Grace where there is no fear of God. 

GREAT-HEART. Well said, James, thou hast hit the 
mark, for the fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom; 
and to be sure, they that want the beginning have neither 
middle nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse 
of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell. 

Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear 
Thy God, and wast afraid 
Of doing anything while here 
That would have thee betray' d. 


And didst thou fear the Lake and Pit ? 
Would others did so too. 
For as for them that want thy wit, 
They do themselves undo. 

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk; for 
after Mr. Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, 
Mr. Honest began to tell them of another, but his name was 
Mr. Self-will. He pretended himself to be a Pilgrim, said 
Mr. Honest, but I persuade myself he never came in at the 
Gate that stands at the head of the way. 

GREAT-HEART. Had you ever any talk with him about 

HON. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would 
always be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared for 
man, nor argument, nor yet example; what his mind 
prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could 
he be got to. 

GREAT-HEART. Pray what principles did he hold? for 
I suppose you can tell. 

HON. He held that a man might follow the Vices as 
well as the Virtues of the Pilgrims, and that if he did both 
he should be certainly saved. 

GREAT-HEART. How? If he had said 'tis possible for 
the best to be guilty of the Vices, as well as to partake of 
the Virtues of Pilgrims, he could not much have been 
blamed. For indeed we are exempted from no Vice abso- 
lutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But 
this I perceive is not the thing; but if I understand you 
right, your meaning is, that he was of that opinion that it 
was allowable so to be ? 

HON. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and 

GREAT-HEART. But what Ground had he for his so 
saying ? 

HON. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his Warrant. 

GREAT-HEART. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a 
few particulars. 


HON. So I will. He said to have to do with other 
men's Wives had been practised by David, God's beloved, 
and therefore he could do it. He said to have more Women 
than one was a thing that Solomon practised, and there- 
fore he could do it. He said that Sarah and the godly 
Midwives of Egypt lied, and so did saved Rahab, and 
therefore he could do it. He said that the Disciples went 
at the bidding of their Master and took away the owner's 
Ass, and therefore he could do so too. He said that Jacob 
got the Inheritance of his Father in a way of Guile and 
Dissimulation, and therefore he could do so too. 

GREAT-HEART. High base indeed; and you are sure he 
was of this opinion ? 

HON. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for 
it, bring Argument for it, etc. 

GREAT-HEART. An opinion that is not fit to be with 
any allowance in the world. 

HON. You must understand me rightly. He did not 
say that any man might do this, but that those that had 
the Virtues of those that did such things might also do 
the same. 

GREAT-HEART. But what more false than such a con- 
clusion? for this is as much as to say, that because good 
men heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had 
allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind. Or if because 
a Child by the Blast of the Wind, or for that it stumbled 
at a Stone, fell down and defiled itself in mire, therefore 
he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a Boar therein. 
Who could a thought that any one could so far a been 
blinded by the power of Lust? But what is written must 
be true, They stumble at the word, being disobedient, 
whereunto also they were appointed. 

His supposing that such may have the godly man's 
Virtues who addict themselves to their Vices, is also a 
delusion as strong as the other. Tis just as if the Dog 
should say, I have or may have the qualities of the Child, 


because I lick up its stinking Excrements. To eat up the 
Sin of God's People is no sign of one that is possessed with 
their Virtues. Nor can I believe that one that is of this 
opinion can at present have Faith or Love in him. But 
I know you have made strong objections against him; 
prithee what can he say for himself? 

HON. Why, he says, To do this by way of opinion, seems 
abundance more honest than to do it, and yet hold con- 
trary to it in opinion. 

GREAT-HEART. A very wicked answer, for though to let 
loose the Bridle to Lusts, while our opinions are against 
such things, is bad; yet to sin and plead a toleration so to 
do, is worse. The one stumbles Beholders accidentally, 
the other pleads them into the Snare. 

HON. There are many of this man's mind that have 
not this man's mouth, and that makes going on Pilgrimage 
of so little esteem as it is. 

GREAT-HEART. You have said the truth, and it is to be 
lamented. But he that feareth the King of Paradise shall 
come out of them all. 

CHRIS. There are strange opinions in the world; I know 
one that said, 'Twas time enough to repent when they come 
to die. 

GREAT-HEART. Such are not over-wise. That man would 
a been loth, might he have had a Week to run twenty mile 
hi for his life, to have deferred that Journey to the last hour 
of that Week. 

HON. You say right, and yet the generality of them 
that count themselves Pilgrims do indeed do thus. I am, 
as you see, an old man, and have been a Traveller in this 
road many a day, and I have taken notice of many things. 

I have seen some that have set out as if they would 
drive all the world afore them, who yet have in few days 
died as they in the Wilderness, and so never got sight of 
the Promised Land. 

I have seen some that have promised nothing at first 



setting out to be Pilgrims, and that one would a thought 
could not have lived a day, that have yet proved very 
good Pilgrims. 

I have seen some that have run hastily forward, that 
again have after a little time run as fast just back again. 

I have seen some who have spoken very well of a Pil- 
grim's life at first, that after a while have spoken as much 
against it. 

I have heard some, when they first set out for Paradise, 
say positively there is such a place, who, when they have 
been almost there, have come back again and said there is 

I have heard some vaunt what they would do in case 
they should be opposed, that have even at a false alarm 
fled Faith, the Pilgrim's way, and all. 

Now as they were thus in their way, there came one 
running to meet them, and said, Gentlemen, and you of the 
weaker sort, if you love Life shift for yourselves, for the 
Robbers are before you. 

GREAT-HEART. Then said Mr. Great-heart, They be the 
three that set upon Little-faith heretofore. Well, said he, 
we are ready for them. So they went on their way. Now 
they looked at every turning when they should a met with 
the Villains; but whether they heard of Mr. Great-heart, 
or whether they had some other game, they came not up 
to the Pilgrims. 

Christiana then wished for an Inn for herself and her 
Children, because they were weary. Then said Mr. Honest, 
There is one a little before us, where a very honourable 
Disciple, one Gaius, dwells. So they all concluded to turn 
in thither, and the rather because the old Gentleman gave 
him so good a report. So when they came to the door, 
they went in, not knocking, for Folks use not to knock 
at the door of an Inn. Then they called for the Master of 
the house, and he came to them. So they asked if they 
might lie there that night ? 

GAIUS 259 

GAIUS. Yes, Gentlemen, if you be true men, for my 
house is for none but Pilgrims. Then were Christiana, 
Mercy, and the Boys the more glad, for that the Innkeeper 
was a lover of Pilgrims. So they called for Rooms, and he 
shewed them one for Christiana and her Children and Mercy, 
and another for Mr. Greatheart and the old Gentleman. 

GREAT-HEART. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Good Gaius, 
what hast thou for Supper? for these Pilgrims have come 
far to-day and are weary. 

GAIUS. It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently 
go out to seek food, but such as we have you shall be 
welcome to, if that will content. 

GREAT-HEART. We will be content with what thou 
hast in the house, forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou 
art never destitute of that which is convenient. 

Then he went down and spake to the Cook, whose name 
was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready Supper for so 
many Pilgrims. This done, he comes up again, saying, 
Come, my good Friends, you are welcome to me, and I am 
glad that I have a house to entertain you; and while 
Supper is making ready, if you please, let us entertain 
one another with some good discourse. So they all said, 

GAIUS. Then said Gaius, Whose Wife is this aged 
Matron ? and whose Daughter is this young Damsel ? 

GREAT-HEART. The Woman is the Wife of one Christian, 
a Pilgrim of former times, and those are his four Children. 
The Maid is one of her Acquaintance, one that she hath 
persuaded to come with her on Pilgrimage. The Boys take 
all after their Father, and covet to tread in his steps; yea, 
if they do but see any place where the old Pilgrim hath 
lain, or any print of his foot, it ministereth joy to their 
hearts, and they covet to lie or tread in the same. 

GAIUS. Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's Wife? and 
are these Christian's Children? I knew your Husband's 
Father, yea, also his Father's Father. Many have been 


good of their stock: their Ancestors dwelt first at Antioch. 
Christian's Progenitors (I suppose you have heard your 
husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They have, 
above any that I know, shewed themselves men of great 
Virtue and Courage for the Lord of Pilgrims, his ways, 
and them that loved him. I have heard of many of your 
Husband's Relations that have stood all trials for the sake 
of the Truth. Stephen that was one of the first of the 
Family from whence your Husband sprang, was knocked 
on the head with Stones. James, another of this Genera- 
tion, was slain with the edge of the Sword. To say nothing 
of Paul and Peter, men anciently of the Family from 
whence your Husband came, there was Ignatius who was 
cast to the Lions, Romanus whose flesh was cut by pieces 
from his bones, and Polycarp that played the man in the 
Fire. There was he that was hanged up in a Basket in 
the Sun for the Wasps to eat, and he whom they put into 
a Sack and cast him into the Sea to be drowned. Twould 
be impossible utterly to count up all of that Family that 
have suffered Injuries and Death for the love of a Pilgrim's 
life. Nor can I but be glad to see that thy Husband has 
left behind him four such Boys as these. I hope they will 
bear up their Father's name, and tread in their Father's 
steps, and come to their Father's end. 

GREAT-HEART. Indeed, Sir, they are likely Lads, they 
seem to choose heartily their Father's ways. 

GAIUS. That is it that I said, wherefore Christian's 
Family is like still to spread abroad upon the face of the 
ground, and yet to be numerous upon the face of the earth. 
Wherefore let Christiana look out some Damsels for her 
Sons, to whom they may be betrothed, etc., that the name 
of their Father and the house of his Progenitors may never 
be forgotten in the world. 

HON. Tis pity this Family should fall and be ex- 

GAIUS. Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may; but 


let Christiana take my advice, and that's the way to up- 
hold it. 

And Christiana, said this Innkeeper, I am glad to see 
thee and thy friend Mercy together here, a lovely couple. 
And may I advise, take Mercy into a nearer Relation to 
thee. If she will, let her be given to Matthew, thy eldest 
Son, 'tis the way to preserve you a Posterity in the earth. 
So this match was concluded, and in process of time they 
were married. But more of that hereafter. 

Gaius also proceeded and said, I will now speak on the 
behalf of Women, to take away their Reproach. For as 
Death and the Curse came into the world by a Woman, 
so also did Life and Health: God sent forth his Son, made 
of a Woman. Yea, to shew how much those that came 
after did abhor the act of their Mother, this sex in the 
Old Testament coveted Children, if happily this or that 
Woman might be the Mother of the Saviour of the 

I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, 
Women rejoiced in him before either Man or Angel. I 
read not that ever any Man did give unto Christ so much 
as one Groat, but the Women followed him and ministered 
to him of their Substance. 'Twas a woman that washed 
his Feet with Tears, and a Woman that anointed his Body 
to the Burial. They were Women that wept when he was 
going to the Cross, and Women that followed him from the 
Cross, and that sat by his Sepulchre when he was buried. 
They were Women that were first with him at his Resur- 
rection-morn, and Women that brought tidings first to his 
Disciples that he was risen from the Dead. Women there- 
fore are highly favoured, and shew by these things that 
they are sharers with us in the Grace of life. 

Now the Cook sent up to signify that Supper was almost 
ready, and sent one to lay the Cloth, the Trenchers, and to 
set the Salt and Bread in order. 

Then said Matthew, The sight of this Cloth and of this 


forerunner of the Supper, begetteth in me a greater Appetite 
to my food than I had before. 

GAIUS. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in this 
life beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the Supper of 
the great King in his Kingdom; for all Preaching, Books, 
and Ordinances here are but as the laying of the Trenchers, 
and as setting of Salt upon the Board, when compared with 
the Feast that our Lord will make for us when we come to 
his House. 

So Supper came up, and first a Heave-shoulder and a 
Wave-breast were set on the Table before them, to shew 
that they must begin their meal with Prayer and Praise 
to God. The Heave-shoulder David lifted his Heart up 
to God with, and with the Wave-breast, where his Heart 
lay, with that he used to lean upon his Harp when he played. 
These two Dishes were very fresh and good, and they all 
ate heartily well thereof. 

The next they brought up was a Bottle of Wine, red as 
Blood. So Gaius said to them, Drink freely, this is the 
Juice of the true Vine that makes glad the heart of God 
and Man. So they drank and were merry. 

The next was a dish of Milk well crumbed. But Gaius 
said, Let the Boys have that, that they may grow thereby. 

Then they brought up in course a dish of Butter and 
Honey. Then said Gaius, Eat freely of this, for this is good 
to cheer up and strengthen your Judgments and Under- 
standings. This was our Lord's dish when he was a Child, 
Butter and Honey shall he eat, that he may know to refuse 
the Evil and choose the Good. 

Then they brought them up a dish of Apples, and they 
were very good tasted Fruit. Then said Matthew, May 
we eat Apples, since they were such, by and with which 
the Serpent beguiled our first Mother ? 

Then said Gaius, 

Apples were they with which we were beguil'd, 
Yet sin, not Apples, hath our souls defil'd. 


Apples forbid, if eat, corrupt the Blood ; 
To eat such when commanded, does us good. 
Drink of his flagons, then, thou Church, his Dove, 
And eat his Apples, who are sick of Love. 

Then said Matthew, I made the scruple because I a 
while since was sick with eating of Fruit. 

GAIUS. Forbidden Fruit will make you sick, but not 
what our Lord has tolerated. 

While they were thus talking, they were presented with 
another dish, and 'twas a dish of Nuts. Then said some 
at the Table, Nuts spoil tender Teeth, specially the Teeth 
of Children ; which when Gaius heard, he said, 

Hard texts are Nuts (I will not call them cheaters) 
Whose Shells do keep then- Kernels from the Eaters. 
Ope then the Shells, and you shall have the Meat, 
They here are brought for you to crack and eat. 

Then were they very merry, and sat at the Table a long 
time, talking of many things. Then said the old Gentle- 
man, My good Landlord, while we are cracking your Nuts, 
if you please, do you open this Riddle : 

A man there was, though some did count him mad, 
The more he cast away the more he had. 

Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good 
Gaius would say; so he sat still a while, and then thus 

He that bestows his Goods upon the Poor, 
Shall have as much again, and ten times more. 

Then said Joseph, I dare say, Sir, I did not think you 
could a found it out. 

Oh, said Gaius, I have been trained up in this way 
a great while, nothing teaches like experience. I have 
learned of my Lord to be kind, and have found by experi- 
ence that I have gained thereby. There is that scattereth, 
yet increaseth, and there is that withholdeth more than 
is meet, but it tendeth to Poverty. There is that maketh 
himself Rich, yet hath nothing : there is that maketh himself 
Poor, yet hath great Riches. 


Then Samuel whispered to Christiana, his Mother, and 
said, Mother, this is a very good man's house, let us stay 
here a good while, and let my Brother Matthew be married 
here to Mercy before we go any farther. 

The which Gaius the Host overhearing said, With a very 
good will, my Child. 

So they stayed there more than a month, and Mercy 
was given to Matthew to Wife. 

While they stayed here, Mercy, as her custom was, 
would be making Coats and Garments to give to the Poor, 
by which she brought up a very good report upon the 

But to return again to our Story. After Supper the 
Lads desired a Bed, for that they were weary with Travelling. 
Then Gaius called to shew them their chamber, but said 
Mercy, I will have them to Bed. So she had them to Bed, 
and they slept well. But the rest sat up all night, for 
Gaius and they were such suitable Company that they could 
not tell how to part. Then after much talk of their Lord, 
themselves, and their Journey, old Mr. Honest, he that 
put forth the Riddle to Gaius, began to nod. Then said 
Great-heart, What, Sir, you begin to be drowsy. Come, 
rub up, now here's a Riddle for you. Then said Mr. Honest, 
Let's hear it. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart : 

He that will kill, must first be overcome; 
Who live abroad would, first must die at home. 

Ha! said Mr. Honest, it is a hard one, hard to expound, 
and harder to practise. But come, Landlord, said he, I 
will, if you please, leave my part to you; do you expound 
it, and I will hear what you say. 

No, said Gaius, 'twas put to you, and 'tis expected that 
you should answer it. 

Then said the old Gentleman, 


He first by Grace must conquer' d be, 
That Sin would mortify; 
And who, that lives, would convince me, 
Unto himself must die. 

It is right, said Gaius, good Doctrine and Experience 
teaches this. For First, until Grace displays itself, and 
overcomes the soul with its Glory, it is altogether without 
heart to oppose Sin. Besides, if Sin is Satan's Cords, by 
which the soul lies bound, how should it make resistance 
before it is loosed from that infirmity ? 

Secondly, nor will any that knows either Reason or 
Grace believe that such a man can be a living Monument 
of Grace that is a Slave to his own Corruptions. 

And now it comes in my mind, I will tell you a Story 
worth the hearing. There were two men that went on 
Pilgrimage, the one began when he was young, the other 
when he was old. The young man had strong Corruptions 
to grapple with, the old man's were decayed with the decays 
of nature. The young man trod his steps as even as did 
the old one, and was every way as light as he. Who now, 
or which of them, had their Graces shining clearest, since 
both seemed to be alike? 

HON. The young man's, doubtless. For that which 
heads it against the greatest opposition, gives best demon- 
stration that it is strongest. Specially when it also holdeth 
pace with that that meets not with half so much, as, to be 
sure, old age does not. 

Besides, I have observed that old men have blessed 
themselves with this mistake, namely, taking the decays 
of Nature for a gracious Conquest over Corruptions, and so 
have been apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old men that 
are gracious are best able to give advice to them that are 
young, because they have seen most of the emptiness of 
things. But yet, for an old and a young to set out both 
together, the young one has the advantage of the fairest 
discovery of a work of Grace within him, though the old 
man's Corruptions are naturally the weakest. 


Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now when the 
Family was up, Christiana bid her Son James that he should 
read a Chapter, so he read the 53rd of Isaiah. When he 
had done, Mr. Honest asked why it was said that the 
Saviour is said to come out of a dry ground, and also, that 
he had no form nor comeliness in him ? 

GREAT-HEART. Then said Mr. Great-heart, To the First 
I answer, Because the Church of the Jews, of which Christ 
came, had then lost almost all the Sap and Spirit of Religion. 
To the Second I say, the words are spoken in the person of 
the Unbelievers, who because they want that Eye that can 
see into our Prince's Heart, therefore they judge of him 
by the meanness of his Outside. Just like those that know 
not that Precious Stones are covered over with a homely 
Crust, who, when they have found one, because they know 
not what they have found, cast it again away, as men do a 
common Stone. 

Well, said Gaius, now you are here, and since, as I 
know, Mr. Great-heart is good at his Weapons, if you please, 
after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk into the 
Fields to see if we can do any good. About a mile from 
hence there is one Slay-good, a Giant that doth much annoy 
the King's Highway in these parts; and I know where- 
abouts his Haunt is. He is Master of a number of Thieves. 
'Twould be well if we could clear these parts of him. 

So they consented and went, Mr. Great-heart with his 
Sword, Helmet, and Shield, and the rest with Spears and 

When they came to the place where he was, they found 
him with one Feeble-mind in his hands, whom his Servants 
had brought unto him, having taken him in the way. Now 
the Giant was rifling of him, with a purpose, after that, to 
pick his Bones, for he was of the nature of Flesh-eaters. 

Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his Friends 
at the Mouth of his Cave with their Weapons, he demanded 
what they wanted? 


GREAT-HEART. We want thee ; for we are come to revenge 
the quarrel of the many that thou hast slain of the Pilgrims, 
when thou hast dragged them out of the King's Highway; 
wherefore come out of thy Cave. So he armed himself and 
came out, and to a Battle they went, and fought for above 
an hour, and then stood still to take wind. 

SLAY. Then said the Giant, Why are you here on my 
ground ? 

GREAT-HEART. To revenge the Blood of Pilgrims, as I 
also told thee before. So they went to it again, and the 
Giant made Mr. Great-heart give back; but he came up 
again, and, in the greatness of his mind, he let fly with such 
stoutness at the Giant's head and sides, that he made him 
let his Weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote him 
and slew him, and cut off his Head, and brought it away 
to the Inn. He also took Feeble-mind, the Pilgrim, and 
brought him with him to his Lodgings. When they were 
come home, they shewed his head to the Family, and then 
set it up, as they had done others before, for a terror to 
those that should attempt to do as he hereafter. 

Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind how he fell into his 
hands ? 

FEEBLE-MIND. Then said the poor man, I am a sickly 
man, as you see, and, because Death did usually once a 
day knock at my door, I thought I should never be well 
at home; so I betook myself to a Pilgrim's life, and have 
travelled hither from the Town of Uncertain, where I and 
my Father were born. I am a man of no strength at all 
of body, nor yet of mind; but would if I could, though I can 
but crawl, spend my life in the Pilgrim's way. When I 
came at the Gate that is at the head of the way, the Lord 
of that place did entertain me freely, neither objected he 
against my weakly looks, nor against my feeble mind; 
but gave me such things that were necessary for my Journey, 
and bid me hope to the end. When I came to the house 
of the Interpreter, I received much kindness there, and 


because the Hill Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I 
was carried up that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have 
found much relief from Pilgrims, though none was willing to 
go so softly as I am forced to do; yet, still as they came on, 
they bid me be of good cheer, and said that it was the will 
of their Lord that comfort should be given to the feeble- 
minded, and so went on their own pace. When I was come 
up to Assault Lane, then this Giant met with me, and bid 
me prepare for an Encounter; but, alas, feeble one that I 
was, I had more need of a Cordial. So he came up and took 
me. I conceited he should not kill me. Also, when he had 
got me into his Den, since I went not with him willingly, 
I believed I should come out alive again; for I have heard 
that not any Pilgrim that is taken captive by violent hands, 
if he keeps heart-whole towards his Master, is, by the Laws 
of Providence, to die by the hand of the Enemy. Robbed 
I looked to be, and robbed to be sure I am; but I am, as 
you see, escaped with Life, for the which I thank my King 
as Author, and you as the Means. Other brunts I also 
look for, but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run when I 
can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep when I cannot 
go. As to the main, I thank him that loves me, I am 
fixed. My way is before me, my Mind is beyond the River 
that has no Bridge, though I am, as you see, but of a feeble 

HON. Then said old Mr. Honest, Have you not some 
time ago been acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a Pilgrim ? 

FEEBLE. Acquainted with him. Yes. He came from 
the Town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the 
northward of the City of Destruction, and as many off of 
where I was born;, yet we were well acquainted, for indeed 
he was mine Uncle, my Father's Brother. He and I have 
been much of a temper. He was a little shorter than I, 
but yet we were much of a complexion. 

HON. I perceive you know him, and I am apt to believe 
also that you were related one to another; for you have 


his whitely Look, a Cast like his with your eye, and your 
Speech is much alike. 

FEEBLE. Most have said so that have known us both, 
and besides, what I have read in him I have, for the most 
part, found in myself. 

GAIUS. Come, Sir, said good Gaius, be of good cheer, 
you are welcome to me and to my house, and what thou 
hast a mind to, call for freely; and what thou wouldst 
have my servants do for thee, they will do it with a ready 

Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, This is unexpected Favour, 
and as the Sun shining out of a very dark Cloud. Did 
Giant Slay-good intend me this favour when he stopped me, 
and resolved to let me go no farther! Did he intend that 
after he had rifled my Pockets I should go to Gaius mine 
Host ? Yet so it is. 

Now just as Mr. Feeble-mind and Gaius were thus in 
talk, there comes one running and called at the door, and 
told, that about a mile and a half off there was one Mr. 
Not-right, a Pilgrim, struck dead upon the place where 
he was with a Thunderbolt. 

FEEBLE. Alas, said Mr. Feeble-mind, is he slain? He 
overtook me some days before I came so far as hither, and 
would be my Company-keeper. He also was with me when 
Slay-good, the Giant, took me, but he was nimble of his 
heels and escaped. But it seems he escaped to die, and I 
was taken to live. 

What one would think doth seek to slay outright, 

Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight. 

That very Providence whose face is Death, 

Doth ofttimes to the lowly Life bequeath. 

I taken was, he did escape and flee, 

Hands cross' d gives Death to him, and Life to me. 

Now about this time Matthew and Mercy were married. 
Also Gaius gave his Daughter Phoebe to James, Matthew's 
Brother, to Wife; after which time they yet stayed above 


ten days at Gaius's house, spending their time and the 
seasons like as Pilgrims used to do. 

When they were to depart, Gaius made them a Feast, 
and they did eat and drink and were merry. Now the hour 
was come that they must be gone, wherefore Mr. Great- 
heart called for a Reckoning. But Gaius told him that at 
his house it was not the custom for Pilgrims to pay for 
their Entertainment. He boarded them by the year, 
but looked for his pay from the good Samaritan, who had 
promised him, at his return, whatsoever charge he was at 
with them faithfully to repay him. Then said Mr. Great- 
heart to him: 

GREAT-HEART. Beloved, thou dost faithfully whatsoever 
thou dost to the Brethren and to Strangers, which have 
borne witness of thy Charity before the Church; whom if 
thou (yet) bring forward on their Journey after a Godly 
sort, thou shalt do well. 

Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and of his 
Children, and particularly of Mr. Feeble-mind. He also 
gave him something to drink by the way. 

Now Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of 
the door, made as if he intended to linger. The which 
when Mr. Great-heart espied, he said, Come, Mr. Feeble- 
mind, pray do you go along with us, I will be your Conductor, 
and you shall fare as the rest. 

FEEBLE. Alas, I want a suitable Companion; you are 
all lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak. I choose, 
therefore, rather to come behind, lest by reason of my many 
Infirmities I should be both a Burden to myself and to you. 
I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind, and shall 
be offended and made weak at that which others can bear. 
I shall like no Laughing, I shall like no gay Attire, I shall 
like no unprofitable Questions. Nay, I am so weak a man 
as to be offended with that which others have a liberty to 
do. I do not yet know all the Truth. I am a very ignorant 
Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear some rejoice in the 


Lord, it troubles me because I cannot do so too. It is 
with me as it is with a weak man among the strong, or as 
with a sick man among the healthy, or as a Lamp despised 
(He that is ready to slip with his feet, is as a Lamp despised 
in the thought of him that is at ease), so that I know 
not what to do. 

GREAT-HEART. But, Brother, said Mr. Great-heart, I 
have it in Commission to comfort the feeble-minded, and to 
support the weak. You must needs go along with us; we 
will wait for you, we will lend you our help, we will deny 
ourselves of some things both opinionative and practical 
for your sake, we will not enter into doubtful disputations 
before you, we will be made all things to you rather than 
you shall be left behind. 

Now all this while they were at Gaius's door; and behold 
as they were thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr. Ready- 
to-halt came by with his Crutches in his hand, and he also 
was going on Pilgrimage. 

FEEBLE. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind to him, Man, 
how earnest thou hither? I was but just now complaining 
that I had not a suitable Companion, but thou art according 
to my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Ready-to-halt, 
I hope thee and I may be some help. 

READY-TO-HALT. I shall be glad of thy Company, said 
the other; and good Mr. Feeble-mind, rather than we will 
part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee one of 
my Crutches. 

FEEBLE. Nay, said he, though I thank thee for thy good 
will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. Howbeit, 
I think when occasion is, it may help me against a 

READY. If either myself or my Crutches can do thee a 
pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr. Feeble- 

Thus therefore they went on, Mr. Great-heart and Mr. 
Honest went before, Christiana and her Children went next, 


and Mr. Feeble-mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind 
with his Crutches. Then said Mr. Honest: 

HON. Pray, Sir, now we are upon the Road, tell us some 
profitable things of some that have gone on Pilgrimage 
before us. 

GREAT-HEART. With a good will. I suppose you have 
heard how Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in the 
Valley of Humiliation, and also what hard work he had 
to go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Also 
I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful was put 
to it with Madam Wanton, with Adam the First, with one 
Discontent, and Shame, four as deceitful Villains as a man 
can meet with upon the road. 

HON. Yes, I have heard of all this; but indeed good 
Faithful was hardest put to it with Shame, he was an 
unwearied one. 

GREAT-HEART. Ay, for as the Pilgrim well said, he of 
all men had the wrong name. 

HON. But pray, Sir, where was it that Christian and 
Faithful met Talkative? That same was also a notable 

GREAT-HEART. He was a confident Fool, yet many 
follow his ways. 

HON. He had like to a beguiled Faithful. 

GREAT-HEART. Ay, but Christian put him into a way 
quickly to find him out. Thus they went on till they came 
at the place where Evangelist met with Christian and 
Faithful, and prophesied to them of what should befall them 
at Vanity Fair. 

GREAT-HEART. Then said their Guide, Hereabouts did 
Christian and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who pro- 
phesied to them of what Troubles they should meet with 
at Vanity Fair. 

HON. Say you so? I dare say it was a hard Chapter 
that then he did read unto them. 

GREAT-HEART. 'Twas so; but he gave them encourage- 


ment withal. But what do we talk of them ? They were 
a couple of lion-like men; they had set their faces like flint. 
Don't you remember how undaunted they were when they 
stood before the Judge? 

HON. Well, Faithful bravely suffered. 

GREAT-HEART. So he did, and as brave things came 
on't, for Hopeful and some others, as the Story relates it, 
were converted by his Death. 

HON. Well, but pray go on, for you are well acquainted 
with things. 

GREAT-HEART. Above all that Christian met with after 
he had passed through Vanity Fair, one By-ends was the 
arch one. 

HON. By-ends, what was he ? 

GREAT-HEART. A very arch Fellow, a downright Hypo- 
crite. One that would be religious which way ever the 
World went, but so cunning that he would be sure neither 
to lose nor suffer for it. He had his mode of Religion for 
every fresh occasion, and his Wife was as good at it as he. 
He would turn and change from opinion to opinion, yea, 
and plead for so doing too. But o far as I could learn, he 
came to an ill end with his by-ends, nor did I ever hear that 
any of his Children were ever of any esteem with any that 
truly feared God. 

Now by this time they were come within sight of the 
Town of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is kept. So when they 
saw that they were so near the Town, they consulted with 
one another how they should pass through the Town, and 
some said one thing and some another. At last Mr. Great- 
heart said, I have, as you may understand, often been a 
Conductor of Pilgrims through this Town, now I am ac- 
quainted with one Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by Nation, an 
old Disciple, at whose house we may lodge. If you think 
good, said he, we will turn in there. 

Content, said old Honest, Content, said Christiana, 
Content, said Mr. Feeble-mind, and so they said all. Now, 



you must think, it was eventide by that they got to the 
outside of the Town, but Mr. Great-heart knew the way 
to the old man's house. So thither they came; and he 
called at the door, and the old man within knew his tongue 
so soon as ever he heard it ; so he opened, and they all came 
in. Then said Mnason, their Host, How far have you come 
to-day? so they said, From the house of Gaius our Friend. 
I promise you, said he, you have gone a good stitch; you 
may well be a weary, sit down. So they sat down. 

GREAT-HEART. Then said their Guide, Come, what cheer, 
Sirs ? I dare say you are welcome to my Friend. 

MNASON. I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you welcome, 
and whatever you want, do but say, and we will do what 
we can to get it for you. 

HON. Our great want a while since was Harbour and 
good Company, and now I hope we have both. 

MNASON. For Harbour, you see what it is, but for good 
Company, that will appear in the trial. 

GREAT-HEART. Well, said Mr. Great-heart, will you 
have the Pilgrims up into their Lodgings ? 

MNASON. I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them 
to their respective places; and also shewed them a very 
fair Dining-room, where they might be, and sup together, 
until time was come to go to Rest. 

Now when they were set in their places, and were a 
little cheery after their Journey, Mr. Honest asked his 
Landlord if there were any store of good people in the 

MNASON. We have a few, for indeed they are but a 
few when compared with them on the other side. 

HON. But how shall we do to see some of them? for 
the sight of good men to them that are going on Pilgrimage 
is like to the appearing of the Moon and the Stars to them 
that are sailing upon the Seas. 

Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his daughter 
Grace came up; so he said unto her, Grace, go you tell my 


Friends, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. Love-saint, Mr. 
Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, that I have a Friend or 
two at my house that have a mind this evening to see 

So Grace went to call them, and they came; and after 
Salutation made, they sat down together at the Table. 

Then said Mr. Mnason, their landlord, My Neighbours, 
I have, as you see, a Company of Strangers come to my 
house; they are Pilgrims; they come from afar, and are 
going to Mount Zion. But who, quoth he, do you think this 
is ? pointing with his finger to Christiana. It is Christiana, 
the Wife of Christian, that famous Pilgrim who, with Faithful 
his Brother, were so shamefully handled in our Town. At 
that they stood amazed, saying, We little thought to see 
Christiana, when Grace came to call us, wherefore this is 
a very comfortable surprise. Then they asked her of her 
welfare, and if these young men were her Husband's Sons? 
And when she had told them they were, they said, The 
King whom you love and serve, make you as your Father, 
and bring you where he is in Peace. 

HON. Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat down) 
asked Mr. Contrite and the rest in what posture their Town 
was at present ? 

CONTRITE. You may be sure we are full of hurry in Fair- 
time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts and spirits in any good 
order when we are in a cumbered condition. He that lives 
in such a place as this is, and that has to do with such as 
we have, has need of an Item to caution him to take heed 
every moment of the day. 

HON. But how are your Neighbours for quietness? 

CONTRITE. They are much more moderate now than 
formerly. You know how Christian and Faithful were 
used at our Town; but of late, I say, they have been far 
more moderate. I think the blood of Faithful lieth with 
load upon them till now, for since they burned him they 
have been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we 


were afraid to walk the Streets, but now we can shew our 
heads. Then the name of a Professor was odious, now, 
specially in some parts of our Town (for you know our 
Town is large), Religion is counted honourable. 

Then said Mr. Contrite to them, Pray how fareth it 
with you in your Pilgrimage? How stands the Country 
affected towards you? 

HON. It happens to us as it happeneth to Wayfaring 
men; sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul, some- 
times up hill, sometimes down hill. We are seldom at a 
certainty. The Wind is not always on our backs, nor is every 
one a Friend that we meet with in the way. We have met 
with some notable Rubs already, and what are yet behind 
we know not, but for the most part we find it true that has 
been talked of of old, A good man must suffer Trouble. 

CONTRITE. You talk of Rubs, what Rubs have you met 
withal ? 

HON. Nay, ask Mr. Great-heart, our Guide, for he can 
give the best account of that. 

GREAT-HEART. We have been beset three or four times 
already. First Christiana and her Children were beset 
with two Ruffians, that they feared would a took away 
their lives. We were beset with Giant Bloody-Man, Giant 
Maul, and Giant Slay-good. Indeed we did rather beset 
the last, than were beset of him. And thus it was: After 
we had been some time at the house of Gaius, mine Host, 
and of the whole Church, we were minded upon a time to 
take our Weapons with us, and so go see if we could light 
upon any of those that were Enemies to Pilgrims (for we 
heard that there was a notable one thereabouts). Now 
Gaius knew his Haunt better than I, because he dwelt 
thereabout, so we looked and looked till at last we dis- 
cerned the Mouth of his Cave, then we were glad and 
plucked up our Spirits. So we approached up to his Den, 
and lo, when we came there, he had dragged by mere force 
into his Net this poor man, Mr. Feeble-mind, and was about 


to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, supposing, 
as we thought, he had had another Prey, he left the poor 
man in his Hole, and came out. So we fell to it full sore, 
and he lustily laid about him; but, in conclusion, he was 
brought down to the ground, and his Head cut off, and set 
up by the Wayside for a terror to such as should after 
practise such Ungodliness. That I tell you the truth, here 
is the man himself to affirm it, who was as a Lamb taken 
out of the Mouth of the Lion. 

FEEBLE-MIND. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, I found this 
true to my Cost and Comfort, to my Cost when he threatened 
to pick my Bones every moment, and to my Comfort when 
I saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends with their Weapons 
approach so near for my Deliverance. 

HOLY-MAN. Then said Mr. Holy-man, There are two 
things that they have need to be possessed with that go 
on Pilgrimage courage, and an unspotted life. If they 
have not courage, they can never hold on their way, and if 
their Lives be loose, they will make the very name of a 
Pilgrim stink. 

LOVE-SAINT. Then said Mr. Love-saint, I hope this 
caution is not needful amongst you. But truly there are 
many that go upon the road, that rather declare themselves 
Strangers to Pilgrimage than Strangers and Pilgrims in the 

DARE-NOT-LIE. Then said Mr. Dare-not-lie, 'Tis true, 
they neither have the Pilgrim's Weed, nor the Pilgrim's 
Courage; they go not uprightly, but all awry with their 
feet; one Shoe goes inward, another outward, and their 
Hosen out behind; there a Rag, and there a Rent, to the 
Disparagement of their Lord. 

PENITENT. These things, said Mr. Penitent, they ought 
to be troubled for, nor are the Pilgrims like to have that 
Grace put upon them and their Pilgrim's Progress, as they 
desire, until the way is cleared of such Spots and Blemishes. 

Thus they sat talking and spending the time, until 


Supper was set upon the Table, unto which they went 
and refreshed their weary bodies; so they went to Rest. 
Now they stayed in this Fair a great while at the house 
of this Mr. Mnason, who, in process of time, gave his daughter 
Grace unto Samuel, Christiana's Son, to Wife, and his 
Daughter Martha to Joseph. 

The time, as I said, that they lay here was long (for it 
was not now as in former* times). Wherefore the Pilgrims 
grew acquainted with many of the good people of the 
Town, and did them what service they could. Mercy, as 
she was wont, laboured much for the Poor, wherefore their 
Bellies and Backs blessed her, and she was there an Orna- 
ment to her Profession. And to say the truth for Grace, 
Phcebe, and Martha, they were all of a very good Nature, 
and did much good in their place. They were also all of 
them very Fruitful, so that Christian's name, as was said 
before, was like to live in the World. 

While they lay here, there came a Monster out of the 
Woods, and slew many of the people of the Town. It 
would also carry away their Children, and teach them to 
suck its Whelps. Now no man in the Town durst so much 
as face this Monster, but all men fled when they heard of 
the Noise of his coming. 

The Monster was like unto no one Beast upon the 
Earth. Its Body was like a Dragon, and it had seven 
Heads and ten Horns. It made great havoc of Children, 
and yet it was governed by a Woman. This Monster pro- 
pounded Conditions to men, and such men as loved their 
Lives more than their Souls, accepted of those Conditions. 
So they came under. 

Now this Mr. Great-heart, together with those that came 
to visit the Pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered into a 
Covenant to go and engage this Beast, if perhaps they might 
deliver the people of this Town from the Paws and Mouth 
of this so devouring a Serpent. 

Then did Mr. Great-heart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, 


Mr. Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, with their Weapons, 
go forth to meet him. Now the Monster at first was very 
rampant, and looked upon these enemies with great Disdain, 
but they so belaboured him, being sturdy men at Arms, 
that they made him make a Retreat. So they came home 
to Mr. Mnason's house again. 

The Monster, you must know, had his certain Seasons 
to come out in, and to make his Attempts upon the Children 
of the people of the Town; also these Seasons did these 
valiant Worthies watch him in, and did still continually 
assault him; insomuch that in process of time he became 
not only wounded but lame, also he has not made that 
havoc of the Townsmen's Children as formerly he has done. 
And it is verily believed by some that this Beast will die 
of his Wounds. 

This, therefore, made Mr. Great-heart and his Fellows 
of great Fame in this Town, so that many of the people 
that wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverend Esteem 
and Respect for them. Upon this account, therefore, it was 
that these Pilgrims got not much hurt here. True, there 
were some of the baser sort, that could see no more than a 
Mole, nor understand more than a Beast, these had no 
reverence for these men, nor took they notice of their 
Valour or Adventures. 

Well, the time grew on that the Pilgrims must go on their 
way, wherefore they prepared for their Journey. They 
sent for their Friends, they conferred with them, they had 
some time set apart therein to commit each other to the 
Protection of their Prince. There was again that brought 
them of such things as they had, that was fit for the Weak 
and the Strong, for the Women and the Men, and so laded 
them with such things as was necessary. 

Then they set forwards on their way, and their Friends 
accompanying them so far as was convenient, they again 
committed each other to the Protection of their King, and 


They, therefore, that were of the Pilgrims' Company 
went on, and Mr. Great-heart went before them. Now 
the Women and Children being weakly, they were forced 
to go as they could bear; by this means Mr. Ready-to-halt 
and Mr. Feeble-mind had more to sympathise with their 

When they were gone from the Townsmen, and when 
their Friends had bid them farewell, they quickly came to 
the place where Faithful was put to Death. There, there- 
fore, they made a stand, and thanked Him that had enabled 
him to bear his Cross so well, and the rather because they 
now found that they had a benefit by such a manly Suffering 
as his was. 

They went on, therefore, after this a good way farther, 
talking of Christian and Faithful, and how Hopeful joined 
himself to Christian after that Faithful was dead. 

Now they were come up with the Hill Lucre, where the 
Silver mine was, which took Demas off from his Pilgrimage, 
and into which, as some think, By-ends fell and perished; 
wherefore they considered that. But when they were 
come to the old Monument that stood over against the Hill 
Lucre to wit, to the Pillar of Salt that stood also within 
view of Sodom and its stinking Lake they marvelled, as 
did Christian before, that men of that Knowledge and 
ripeness of Wit as they were, should be so blinded as to 
turn aside here. Only they considered again that Nature 
is not affected with the Harms that others have met with, 
especially if that thing upon which they look has an attract- 
ing virtue upon the foolish eye. 

I saw now that they went on till they came at the 
River that was on this side of the Delectable Mountains. 
To the River where the fine Trees grow on both sides, and 
whose Leaves, if taken inwardly, are good against Surfeits, 
where the Meadows are green all the year long, and where 
they might lie down safely. 

By this River side, in the Meadow, there were Cotes 

he Destruction of Doubting Castle. 


and Folds for Sheep, an House built for the nourishing and 
bringing up of those Lambs, the Babes of those Women 
that go on Pilgrimage* Also there was here one that was 
intrusted with them, who could have Compassion, and that 
could gather these Lambs with his Arm and carry them 
in his Bosom, and that could gently lead those that were 
with young. Now, to the care of this Man Christiana 
admonished her four Daughters to commit their little ones, 
that by these Waters they might be housed, harboured, 
suckered, and nourished, and that none of them might be 
lacking in time to come. This Man, if any of them go 
astray or be lost, he will bring them again: he will also 
bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen them 
that are sick. Here they will never want Meat and Drink 
and Clothing, here they will be kept from Thieves and 
Robbers, for this Man will die before one of those committed 
to his trust shall be lost. Besides, here they shall be sure 
to have good Nurture and Admonition, and shall be taught 
to walk in right paths, and that you know is a Favour of 
no small account. Also here, as you see, are delicate 
Waters, pleasant Meadows, dainty Flowers, variety of Trees, 
and such as bear wholesome Fruit Fruit not like that that 
Matthew eat of, that fell over the Wall out of Beelzebub's 
Garden, but Fruit that procureth Health where there is 
none, and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 

So they were content to commit their little ones to him; 
and that which was also an encouragement to them so to 
do, was, for that all this was to be at the Charge of the 
King, and so was as an Hospital for young Children and 

Now they went on; and when they were come to By- 
path Meadow, to the Stile over which Christian went with 
his Fellow Hopeful, when they were taken by Giant Despair 
and put into Doubting Castle, they sat down and consulted 
what was best to be done; to wit, now they were so strong, 
and had got such a man as Mr. Great-heart for their Con- 


ductor, whether they had not best make an attempt upon 
the Giant, demolish his Castle, and if there were any Pilgrims 
in it, to set them at liberty before they went any farther. 
So one said one thing, and another said the contrary. 
One questioned if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated 
ground, another said they might provided their end was 
good, but Mr. Great-heart said, Though that Assertion 
offered last cannot be universally true, yet I have a Com- 
mandment to resist Sin, to overcome Evil, to fight the 
good Fight of Faith, and I pray, with whom should I fight 
this good Fight, if not with Giant Despair? I will there- 
fore attempt the taking away of his Life, and the demolish- 
ing of Doubting Castle. Then said he, who will go with 
me? Then said old Honest, I will. And so will we too, 
said Christiana's four Sons, Matthew, Samuel, James, and 
Joseph, for they were young men and strong. So they 
left the Women in the Road, and with them Mr. Feeble- 
mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt, with his Crutches, to be their 
Guard, until they came back; for in that place, though 
Giant Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the Road, a 
little Child might lead them. 

So Mr. Great-heart, old Honest, and the four young men 
went to go up to Doubting Castle to look for Giant Despair. 
When they came at the Castle gate, they knocked for 
entrance with an unusual Noise. At that the old Giant 
comes to the Gate, and Diffidence, his Wife, follows. Then 
said he, Who and what is he that is so hardy as after this 
manner to molest the Giant Despair? Mr. Great-heart 
replied, It is I, Great-heart, one of the King of the Celestial 
Country's Conductors of Pilgrims to their place, and I 
demand of thee that thou open thy Gates for my Entrance. 
Prepare thyself also to fight, for I am come to take away 
thy Head, and to demolish Doubting Castle. 

Now Giant Despair, because he was a Giant, thought 
no man could overcome him; and again, thought he, since 
heretofore I have made a Conquest of Angels, shall Great- 


heart make me afraid? So he harnessed himself and went 
out. He had a Cap of Steel upon his Head, a Breast-plate 
of Fire girded to him, and he came out in Iron Shoes, with 
a great Club in his Hand. Then these six men made up 
to him, and beset him behind and before. Also when 
Diffidence, the Giantess, came up to help him, old Mr. 
Honest cut her down at one Blow. Then they fought for 
their Lives, and Giant Despair was brought down to the 
Ground, but was very loth to die. He struggled hard, and 
had, as they say, as many Lives as a Cat, but Great-heart 
was his Death, for he left him not till he had severed his 
Head from his Shoulders. 

Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, and that, 
you know, might with ease be done since Giant Despair 
was dead. They were seven days in destroying of that; 
and in it of Pilgrims they found one Mr. Despondency, 
almost starved to Death, and one Much-afraid, his Daughter; 
these two they saved alive. But it would a made you a- 
wondered to have seen the dead Bodies that lay here and 
there in the Castle-yard, and how full of dead men's Bones 
the Dungeon was. 

When Mr. Great-heart and his Companions had per- 
formed this exploit, they took Mr. Despondency and his 
Daughter, Much-afraid, into their protection, for they were 
honest people though they were Prisoners in Doubting Castle 
to that Tyrant Giant Despair. They, therefore, I say, took 
with them the Head of the Giant (for his Body they had 
buried under a heap of Stones), and down to the Road and 
to their Companions they came, and shewed them what 
they had done. Now when Feeble-mind and Ready-to- 
halt saw that it was the Head of Giant Despair indeed, 
they were very jocund and merry. Now Christiana, if need 
was, could play upon the Viol, and her Daughter Mercy 
upon the Lute; so since they were so merry disposed, she 
played them a Lesson, and Ready-to-halt would dance. 
So he took Despondency's Daughter named Much-afraid 


by the hand, and to dancing they went in the Road. True, 
he could not dance without one Crutch in his hand, but I 
promise you he footed it well. Also the Girl was to be 
commended, for she answered the Music handsomely. 

As for Mr. Despondency, the Music was not much to 
him, he was for feeding rather than dancing, for that he 
was almost starved. So Christiana gave him some of her 
Bottle of Spirits for present relief, and then prepared him 
something to eat; and in little time the old Gentleman 
came to himself, and began to be finely revived. 

Though Doubting Castle be demolished, 
And the Giant Despair hath lost his Head, 
Sin can rebuild the Castle, make't remain, 
And make Despair the Giant live again. 

Now I saw in my Dream, when all these things were 
finished, Mr. Great-heart took the Head of Giant Despair, 
and set it upon a Pole by the Highway side, right over 
against the Pillar that Christian erected for a Caution to 
Pilgrims that came after, to take heed of entering into his 

Then he writ under it upon a Marble stone these verses 

This is the Head of him, whose Name only 

In former times did Pilgrims terrify. 

His Castle's down, and Diffidence his Wife 

Brave Master Great-heart has bereft of Life. 

Despondency, his Daughter Much-afraid, 

Great-heart for them also the Man has play'd. 

Who hereof doubts, if he'll but cast his eye 

Up hither, may his scruples satisfy : 

This Head also, when doubting Cripples dance, 

Doth show from Fears they have Deliverance. 

When these men had thus bravely shewed themselves 
against Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant Despair, 
they went forward, and went on till they came to the 
Delectable Mountains, where Christian and Hopeful re- 
freshed themselves with the varieties of the place. They 
also acquainted themselves with the Shepherds there, who 


welcomed them, as they had done Christian before, unto 
the Delectable Mountains. 

Now the Shepherds seeing so great a Train follow Mr. 
Great-heart (for with him they were well acquainted), they 
said unto him, Good Sir, you have got a goodly Company 
here, pray where did you find all these ? 

Then Mr. Great-heart replied, 

First here is Christiana and her Train, 
Her Sons, and her Son's Wives, who like the Wain, 
Keep by the Pole, and do by Compass steer 
From Sin to Grace, else they had not been here; 
Next here's old Honest come on Pilgrimage, 
Ready-to-halt too, who I dare engage 
True-hearted is, and so is Feeble-mind, 
Who willing was not to be left behind ; 
Despondency, good man, is coming after, 
And so also is Much-afraid his Daughter. 
May we have entertainment here, or must 
We further go? Let's know whereon to trust. 

Then said the Shepherds, This is a comfortable Company. 
You are welcome to us, for we have comfort for the feeble 
as for the strong. Our Prince has an eye to what is done 
to the least of these, therefore Infirmity must not be a 
block to our Entertainment. So they had them to the 
Palace door, and then said unto them, Come in, Mr. Feeble- 
mind, Come in, Mr. Ready-to-halt, Come in, Mr. Despon- 
dency, and Mrs. Much-afraid, his Daughter. These, Mr. 
Great-heart, said the Shepherds to the Guide, we call in 
by name, for that they are most subject to draw back, 
but as for you and the rest that are strong, we leave you 
to your wonted Liberty. Then said Mr. Great-heart, This 
day I see that Grace doth shine in your Faces, and that 
you are my Lord's Shepherds indeed; for that you have 
not pushed these diseased neither with Side nor Shoulder, 
but have rather strewed their way into the Palace with 
Flowers, as you should. 

So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Great-heart 
and the rest did follow. When they were also set down, 
the Shepherds said to those of the weakest sort, What is 


it that you would have? for, said they, all things must be 
managed here to the supporting of the weak, as well as the 
warning of the unruly. 

So they made them a Feast of things easy of Digestion, 
and that were pleasant to the Palate, and nourishing; 
the which when they had received, they went to their Rest, 
each one respectively unto his proper place. When Morning 
was come, because the Mountains were high, and the day 
clear, and because it was the custom of the Shepherds to 
shew to the Pilgrims, before their departure, some Rarities, 
therefore, after they were ready, and had refreshed them- 
selves, the Shepherds took them out into the Fields, and 
shewed them first what they had shewn to Christian before. 

Then they had them to some new places. The first 
was Mount Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a man 
at a distance that tumbled the Hills about with Words. 
Then they asked the Shepherds what that should mean? 
So they told them, that that man was the Son of one Great- 
grace, of whom you read in the First Part of the Records 
of the Pilgrim's Progress. And he is set there to teach 
Pilgrims how to believe down, or to tumble out of their 
ways, what Difficulties they shall meet with, by Faith. 
Then said Mr. Great-heart, I know him, he is a man above 

Then they had them to another place called Mount 
Innocent, and there they saw a man clothed all in White, 
and two men, Prejudice and Ill-will, continually casting 
Dirt upon him. Now behold the Dirt whatsoever they cast 
at him would in a little time fall off again, and his Garment 
would look as clear as if no Dirt had been cast thereat. 

Then said the Pilgrims, What means this? The Shep- 
herds answered, This man is named Godly-man, and this 
Garment is to shew the Innocency of his Life. Now those 
that throw Dirt at him are such as hate his well-doing, 
but, as you see, the Dirt will not stick upon his Clothes, so 
it shall be with him that liveth truly innocently in the 


World. Whoever they be that would make such men dirty, 
they labour all in vain; for God, by that a little time is 
spent, will cause that their Innocence shall break forth as 
the Light, and their Righteousness as the Noon-day. 

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, 
where they shewed them a man that had a bundle of cloth 
lying before him, out of which he cut Coats and Garments 
for the Poor that stood about him; yet his Bundle or Roll 
of Cloth was never the less. 

Then said they, What should this be? This is, said 
the Shepherds, to shew you, that he that has a heart to 
give of his Labour to the Poor, shall never want where- 
withal. He that watereth shall be watered himself. And 
the Cake that the Widow gave to the Prophet did not cause 
that she had ever the less in her Barrel. 

They had them also to a place where they saw one Fool 
and one Want-wit washing of an Ethiopian with intention 
to make him white, but the more they washed him the 
blacker he was. They then asked the Shepherds what 
that should mean. So they told them, saying, Thus shall 
it be with the vile person. All means used to get such an 
one a good name shall in conclusion tend but to make him 
more abominable. Thus it was with the Pharisees, and so 
shall it be with all Hypocrites. 

Then said Mercy, the Wife of Matthew, to Christiana, 
her Mother, Mother, I would, if it might be, see the Hole 
in the Hill, or that commonly called the By-way to Hell. 
So her Mother brake her mind to the Shepherds. Then they 
went to the Door. It was in the side of a Hill, and they 
opened it, and bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, 
and heard one saying, Cursed be my Father for holding of 
my feet back from the way of Peace and Life; and another 
said, Oh that I had been torn in pieces before I had, to save 
my Life, lost my Soul; and another said, If I were to live 
again, how would I deny myself, rather than come to this 
place. Then there was as if the very Earth had groaned 


and quaked under the feet of this young Woman for fear. 
So she looked white, and came trembling away, saying, 
Blessed be he and she that is delivered from this place. 

Now when the Shepherds had shewed them all these 
things, then they had them back to the Palace, and enter- 
tained them with what the house would afford. But 
Mercy being a young and breeding Woman, longed for some- 
thing that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her 
Mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed, for she looked 
as one not well. Then said Mercy, There is a Looking- 
glass hangs up in the Dining-room, off of which I cannot 
take my mind; if therefore I have it not, I think I shall 
miscarry. Then said her Mother, I will mention thy wants 
to the Shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But she 
said, I am ashamed that these men should know that I 
longed. Nay, my Daughter, said she, it is no Shame, but 
a Virtue, to long for such a thing as that. So Mercy said, 
Then, Mother, if you please, ask the Shepherds if they are 
willing to sell it. 

Now the Glass was one of a thousand. It would present 
a man, one way, with his own Feature exactly, and turn it 
but another way and it would shew one the very Face 
and Similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims himself. Yea, 
I have talked with them that can tell, and they have said 
that they have seen the very Crown of Thorns upon his 
Head by looking in that Glass; they have therein also seen 
the Holes in his Hands, in his Feet, and his Side. Yea, such 
an excellency is there in that Glass, that it will shew him 
to one where they have a mind to see him, whether living 
or dead, whether in Earth or Heaven, whether in a state of 
Humiliation or in his Exaltation, whether coming to Suffer 
or coming to Reign. 

Christiana therefore went to the Shepherds apart (now 
the names of the Shepherds are Knowledge, Experience, 
Watchful, and Sincere), and said unto them, There is one 
of my Daughters, a breeding Woman, that I think doth long 


for something she hath seen in this house, and she thinks 
she shall miscarry if she should by you be denied. 

EXPERIENCE. Call her, call her; she shall assuredly 
have what we can help her to. So they called her, and said 
to her, Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldest have? 
Then she blushed, and said, The great Glass that hangs 
up in the Dining-room. So Sincere ran and fetched it, 
and with a joyful consent it was given her. Then she 
bowed her head, and gave thanks, and said, By this I know 
that I have obtained favour in your eyes. 

They also gave to the other young Women such things 
as they desired, and to their Husbands great Commenda- 
tions for that they joined with Mr. Great-heart to the slaying 
of Giant Despair and the demolishing of Doubting Castle. 

About Christiana's Neck the Shepherds put a Bracelet, 
and so they did about the Necks of her four Daughters, 
also they put Earrings in their Ears, and Jewels on their 

When they were minded to go hence, they let them go 
in peace, but gave not to them those certain Cautions which 
before were given to Christian and his Companion. The 
reason was, for that these had Great-heart to be their 
Guide, who was one that was well acquainted with things, 
and so could give them their Cautions more seasonably, 
to wit, even then when the Danger was nigh the approaching. 

What Cautions Christian and his Companions had 
received of the Shepherds, they had also lost by that the 
time was come that they had need to put them in practice. 
Wherefore here was the advantage that this Company had 
over the other. 

From hence they went on singing, and they said, 

Behold, how fitly are the stages set 
For their Relief that Pilgrims are become; 
And how they us receive without one let. 
That make the other life our mark and home ! 
What Novelties they have to us they give, 
'That we, though Pilgrims, joyful lives may live; 
They do upon us too such things bestow, 
That show we Pilgrims are where'er we go. 



When they were gone from the Shepherds, they quickly 
came to the place where Christian met with one Turn-away, 
that dwelt in the town of Apostacy. Wherefore of him 
Mr. Great-heart, their Guide, did now put them in mind, 
saying, This is the place where Christian met with one 
Turn-away, who carried with him the character of his 
Rebellion at his back. And this I have to say concerning 
this man, he would hearken to no counsel, but once a falling, 
persuasion could not stop him. 

When he came to the place where the Cross and the 
Sepulchre was, he did meet with one that did bid him look 
there; but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped, and said 
he was resolved to go back to his own Town. Before he 
came to the Gate, he met with Evangelist, who offered to 
lay hands on him to turn him into the way again. But 
this Turn-away resisted him, and having done much despite 
unto him, he got away over the Wall, and so escaped his 

Then they went on; and just at the place where Little- 
faith formerly was robbed, there stood a man with his 
Sword drawn, and his Face all bloody. Then said Mr. 
Great-heart, What art thou? The man made answer, say- 
ing, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am a 
Pilgrim, and am going to the Celestial City. Now, as I was 
in my way, there were three men did beset me and pro- 
pounded unto me these three things: i. Whether I would 
become one of them? 2. Or go back from whence I came? 
3. Or die upon the place? To the first I answered, I had 
been a true man a long season, and therefore it could not be 
expected that I now should cast in my Lot with Thieves. 
Then they demanded what I would say to the second. So 
I told them that the place from whence I came, had I not 
found Incommodity there, I had not forsaken it at all; but 
finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofit- 
able for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me 
what I said to the third. And I told them, My life cost 

at the 6(ri trance of the "-Qy- way to hell j 


more dear far than that I should lightly give it away. 
Besides, you have nothing to do thus to put things to my 
Choice, wherefore at your Peril be it if you meddle. Then 
these three, to wit Wild-head, Inconsiderate, and Prag- 
matic, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them. 

So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above 
three hours. They have left upon me, as you see, some 
of the marks of their Valour, and have also carried away 
with them some of mine. They are but just now gone. 
I suppose they might, as the saying is, hear your Horse 
dash, and so they betook them to flight. 

GREAT-HEART. But here was great odds, three against 

VALIANT. 'Tis true, but little or more are nothing to 
him that has the Truth on his side. Though an Host should 
encamp against me, said one, my heart shall not fear; 
though War should rise against me, in this will I be confident, 
etc. Besides, saith he, I have read in some Records, that 
one man has fought an Army; and how many did Samson 
slay with the Jaw-bone of an Ass ? 

GREAT-HEART. Then said the Guide, Why did you not 
cry out, that some might a come in for your succour? 

VALIANT. So I did, to my King, who I knew could 
hear, and afford invisible help, and that was sufficient for 

GREAT-HEART. Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant- 
for-truth, Thou hast worthily behaved thyself. Let me 
see thy Sword. So he shewed it him. When he had 
taken it in his hand, and looked thereon a while, he said, 
Ha, it is a right Jerusalem Blade. 

VALIANT. It is so. Let a man have one of these Blades, 
with a Hand to wield it and Skill to use it, and he may 
venture upon an Angel with it. He need not fear its 
holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its edges will 
never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones and soul and spirit 
and all. 


GREAT-HEART. But you fought a great while ; I wonder 
you were not weary. 

VALIANT. I fought till my Sword did cleave to my 
Hand; . and when they were joined together, as if a Sword 
grew out of my Arm, and when the Blood ran through 
my Fingers, then I fought with most courage. 

GREAT-HEART. Thou hast done well. Thou hast resisted 
unto Blood, striving against Sin. Thou shalt abide by us, 
come in and go out with us, for we are thy Companions. 

Then they took him and washed his Wounds, and gave 
him of what they had to refresh him, and so they went on 
together. Now as they went on, because Mr. Great-heart 
was delighted in him (for he loved one greatly that he 
found to be a man of his hands), and because there were 
with his Company them that were feeble and weak, there- 
fore he questioned with him about many things; as, first, 
what Countryman he was ? 

VALIANT. I am of Dark-land, for there I was born, 
and there my Father and Mother are still. 

GREAT-HEART. Dark-land, said the Guide, doth not 
that lie upon the same Coast with the City of Destruction ? 

VALIANT. Yes, it doth. Now that which caused me 
to come on Pilgrimage was this : We had one Mr. Tell-true 
came into our parts, and he told it about what Christian 
had done that went from the City of Destruction, namely, 
how he had forsaken his Wife and Children, and had be- 
taken himself to a Pilgrim's life. It was also confidently 
reported how he had killed a Serpent that did come out to 
resist him in his Journey, and how he got through to whither 
he intended. It was also told what Welcome he had at 
all his Lord's Lodgings, especially when he came to the 
Gates of the Celestial City, for there, said the man, he was 
received with sound of Trumpet by a company of Shining 
Ones. He told it also, how all the Bells in the City did 
ring for joy at his reception, and what Golden Garments 
he was clothed with, with many other things that now I 


shall forbear to relate. In a word, that man so told the 
story of Christian and his Travels, that my heart fell into a 
burning haste to be gone after him, nor could Father or 
Mother stay me: so I got from them, and am come thus far 
on my way. 

GREAT-HEART. You came in at the Gate, did you 

VALIANT. Yes, yes ; for the same man also told us that 
all would be nothing if we did not begin to enter this way 
at the Gate. 

GREAT-HEART. Look you, said the Guide to Christiana, 
the Pilgrimage of your Husband, and what he has gotten 
thereby, is spread abroad far and near. 

VALIANT. Why, is this Christian's wife ? 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, that it is, and these are also her 
four Sons. 

VALIANT. What, and going on Pilgrimage too ? 

GREAT-HEART. Yes, verily they are following after. 

VALIANT. It glads me at heart. Good man, how joyful 
will he be when he shall see them that would not go with 
him, yet to enter after him in at the Gates into the 

GREAT-HEART. Without doubt it will be a comfort to 
him; for next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be 
a joy to meet there his Wife and his Children. 

VALIANT. But now you are upon that, pray let me 
hear your opinion about it. Some make a question, Whether 
we shall know one another when we are there ? 

GREAT-HEART. Do you think they shall know them- 
selves then, or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in 
that Bliss ? and if they think they shall know and do these, 
why not know others, and rejoice in their Welfare also? 

Again, since Relations are our second self, though that 
state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be rationally 
concluded that we shall be more glad to see them there than 
to see they are wanting? 


VALIANT. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are as to 
this. Have you any more things to ask me about my 
beginning to come on Pilgrimage ? 

GREAT-HEART. Yes. Were your Father and Mother 
willing that you should become a Pilgrim ? 

VALIANT. Oh, no. They used all means imaginable to 
persuade me to stay at home ? 

GREAT-HEART. What could they say against it ? 

VALIANT. They said it was an idle life, and if I myself 
were not inclined to Sloth and Laziness, I would never 
countenance a Pilgrim's condition. 

GREAT-HEART. And what did they say else ? 

VALIANT. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous 
way; yea, the most dangerous way in the World, said they, 
is that which the Pilgrims go. 

GREAT-HEART. Did they shew wherein this way is so 
dangerous ? 

VALIANT. Yes, and that in many particulars. 

GREAT-HEART. Name some of them. 

VALIANT. They told me of the Slough of Despond, 
where Christian was well nigh smothered. They told me 
that there were Archers standing ready in Beelzebub- 
castle to shoot them that should knock at the Wicket-gate 
for entrance. They told me also of the Wood and dark 
Mountains, of the Hill Difficulty, of the Lions, and also 
of the three Giants, Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. 
They said, moreover, that there was a foul Fiend haunted 
the Valley of Humiliation, and that Christian was by him 
almost bereft of Life. Besides, say they, you must go over 
the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the Hobgoblins 
are, where the Light is Darkness, where the way is full of 
Snares, Pits, Traps, and Gins. They told me also of Giant 
Despair, of Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the 
Pilgrims met with there. Further, they said I must go 
over the Enchanted Ground, which was dangerous. And 
that, after all this, I should find a River, over which I should 


find no Bridge, and that that River did lie betwixt me and 
the Celestial Country. 

GREAT-HEART. And was this all? 

VALIANT. No. They also told me that this way was 
full of Deceivers, and of persons that laid await there, to 
turn good men out of the Path. 

GREAT-HEART. But how did they make that out ? 

VALIANT. They told me that Mr. Worldly Wiseman 
did there lie in wait to deceive. They also said that there 
was Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. 
They said also that By-ends, Talkative, or Demas would go 
near to gather me up, that the Flatterer would catch me 
in his Net, or that with green-headed Ignorance I would 
presume to go on to the Gate, from whence he always was 
sent back to the Hole that was in the side of the Hill, and 
made to go the By-way to Hell. 

GREAT-HEART. I promise you this was enough to dis- 
courage, but did they make an end here ? 

VALIANT. No, stay. They told me also of many that 
had tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way 
therein, to see if they could find something of the Glory 
there that so many had so much talked of from time to 
time; and how they came back again, and befooled them- 
selves for setting a foot out of doors in that Path, to the 
satisfaction of all the Country. And they named several 
that did so, as Obstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, 
Turn-away and old Atheist, with several more, who, they 
said, had some of them gone far to see if they could find, 
but not one of them found so much advantage by going as 
amounted to the weight of a Feather. 

GREAT-HEART. Said they anything more to discourage 

VALIANT. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing who 
was a Pilgrim, and how he found this way so solitary that 
he never had comfortable hour therein. Also that Mr. 
Despondency had like to have been starved therein; yea, 


and also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian him- 
self, about whom there has been such a noise, after all 
his ventures for a Celestial Crown, was certainly drowned 
in the black River, and never went foot farther, however 
it was smothered up. 

GREAT-HEART. And did none of these things discourage 

VALIANT. No, they seemed but as so many nothings 
to me. 

GREAT-HEART. How came that about ? 

VALIANT. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had 
said, and that carried me beyond them all. 

GREAT-HEART. Then this was your Victory, even your 

VALIANT. It was so; I believed, and therefore came 
out, got into the Way, fought all that set themselves against 
me, and by believing am come to this place. 

Who would True valour see, 
Let him come hither; 
One here will constant be, 
Come Wind, come Weather. 
There's no Discouragement 
Shall make him once relent 
His first avow'd intent 
To be a Pilgrim. 

Who so beset him round 
With dismal Stories 
Do but themselves confound, 
His Strength the more is; 
No Lion can him fright, 
He'll with a Giant fight, 
But he will have a right 
To be a Pilgrim. 

Hobgoblin nor foul Fiend 
Can daunt his spirit; 
He knows he at the end 
Shall Life inherit. 
Then Fancies fly away, 
He'll fear not what men say, 
He'll labour night and day 
To be a Pilgrim. 

By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, 
where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy, and 


that place was all grown over with Briars and Thorns, 
excepting here and there where was an Enchanted Arbour, 
upon which if a man sits, or in which if a man sleeps, 'tis 
a question, say some, whether ever he shall rise or wake 
again in this world. Over this Forest, therefore, they went, 
both one with another, and Mr. Great-heart went before 
for that he was the Guide, and Mr. Valiant-for-truth he 
came behind, being there a Guard for fear lest peradven- 
ture some Fiend or Dragon or Giant or Thief should fall 
upon their Rear, and so do mischief. They went on here 
each man with his Sword drawn in his hand, for they 
knew it was a dangerous place. Also they cheered up 
one another as well as they could; Feeble-mind, Mr. Great- 
heart commanded should come up after him, and Mr. 
Despondency was under the eye of Mr. Valiant. 

Now they had not gone far, but a great Mist and a 
Darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarce 
for a great while see the one the other. Wherefore they 
were forced for some time to feel for one another by Words, 
for they walked not by Sight. 

But any one must think that here was but sorry going 
for the best of them all, but how much worse for the Women 
and Children, who both of feet and heart were but tender. 
Yet so it was, that through the encouraging words of him 
that led in the front, and of him that brought them up 
behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. 

The way also was here very wearisome through Dirt 
and Slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much 
as one Inn or Victualling-house, therein to refresh the 
feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting and puffing and 
sighing. While one tumbleth over a Bush, another sticks 
fast in the Dirt; and the Children, some of them, lost 
their Shoes in the Mire. While one cries out, I am down; 
and another, Ho, where are you? and a third, The Bushes 
have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away 
from them. 


Then they come at an Arbour, warm, and promising 
much refreshing to the Pilgrims; for it was finely wrought 
above head, beautified with Greens, furnished with Benches 
and Settles. It also had in it a soft Couch whereon the 
weary might lean. This you must think, all things con- 
sidered, was tempting, for the Pilgrims already began to 
be foiled with the badness of the way, but there was not 
one of them that made so much as a motion to stop there. 
Yea, for aught I could perceive, they continually gave 
so good heed to the advice of their Guide, and he did so 
faithfully tell them of Dangers, and of the nature of 
Dangers, when they were at them, that usually when they 
were nearest to them they did most pluck up their spirits, 
and hearten one another to deny the Flesh. This Arbour 
was called the Slothful's Friend, on purpose to allure, if it 
might be, some of the Pilgrims there to take up their Rest 
when weary. 

I saw then in my Dream that they went on in this 
their solitary ground, till they came to a place at which 
a man is apt to lose his way. Now though when it was light 
their Guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways 
that led wrong, yet in the dark he was put to a stand; 
but he had in his Pocket a Map of all ways leading to or 
from the Celestial City; wherefore he struck a Light (for 
he never goes also without his Tinder-box) and takes a 
view of his Book or Map, which bids him be careful in that 
place to turn to the right-hand way. And had he not here 
been careful to look in his Map, they had all, in probability, 
been smothered in the Mud, for just a little before them, 
and that at the end of the cleanest way too, was a Pit, 
none knows how deep, full of nothing but Mud, there 
made on purpose to destroy the Pilgrims in. 

Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on Pil- 
grimage but would have one of these Maps about him, 
that he may look when he is at a stand, which is the way 
he must take ? 


They went on, then, in this Enchanted Ground till they 
came to where there was another Arbour, and it was built 
by the Highway side. And hi that Arbour there lay 
two men whose names were Heedless and Too-bold. These 
two went thus far on Pilgrimage, but here being wearied 
with their Journey, they sat down to rest themselves, 
and so fell fast asleep. When the Pilgrims saw them, 
they stood still, and shook their heads, for they knew 
that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. Then they con- 
sulted what to do, whether to go on and leave them in their 
sleep, or to step to them and try to awake them. So they 
concluded to go to them and awake them, that is, if they 
could; but with this caution, namely, to take heed that 
themselves did not sit down nor embrace the offered benefit 
of that Arbour. 

So they went in and spake to the men, and called each 
by his name (for the Guide it seems did know them), but 
there was no voice nor answer. Then the Guide did shake 
them, and do what he could to disturb them. Then said 
one of them, I will pay you when I take my Money. At 
which the Guide shook his Head. I will fight so long as I 
can hold my Sword in my hand, said the other. At that 
one of the Children laughed. 

Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this? 
The Guide said, They talk in their Sleep. If you strike 
them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, they 
will answer you after this fashion; or as one of them said 
in old time, when the Waves of the Sea did beat upon him, 
and he slept as one upon the Mast of a Ship, When I awake 
I will seek it again. You know when men talk in their 
Sleeps they say anything, but their words are not governed 
either by Faith or Reason. There is an incoherency in 
their words now, as there was before betwixt their going on 
Pilgrimage and sitting down here. This then is the mischief 
on't, when heedless ones go on Pilgrimage 'tis twenty to 
one but they are served thus. For this Enchanted Ground 


is one of the last Refuges that the Enemy to Pilgrims has; 
wherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the 
Way, and so it standeth against us with the more advantage. 
For when, thinks the Enemy, will these Fools be so desirous 
to sit down as when they are weary? and when so like to 
be weary as when almost at their Journey's end? There- 
fore it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is placed so 
nigh to the Land Beulah, and so near the end of their Race. 
Wherefore, let Pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to 
them as it has done to these, that, as you see, are fallen 
asleep, and none can wake them. 

Then the Pilgrims desired with trembling to go for- 
ward; only they prayed their Guide to strike a Light, 
that they might go the rest of their way by the help of 
the Light of a Lanthorn. So he struck a Light, and they 
went by the help of that through the rest of this way, 
though the Darkness was very great. 

But the Children began to be sorely weary, and they 
cried out unto him that loveth Pilgrims to make their way 
more comfortable. So by that they had gone a little 
farther, a Wind arose that drove away the Fog, so the 
Air became more clear. 

Yet they were not off (by much) of the Enchanted 
Ground, only now they could see one another better, and 
the way wherein they should walk. 

Now when they were almost at the end of this ground, 
they perceived that a little before them was a solemn 
Noise, as of one that was much concerned. So they went 
on and looked before them; and behold they saw, as they 
thought, a man upon his Knees, with Hands and Eyes 
lifted up, and speaking, as they thought, earnestly to one 
that was above. They drew nigh, but could not tell what 
he said; so they went softly till he had done. When he 
had done, he got up and began to run towards the Celestial 
City. Then Mr. Great-heart called after him, saying, 
Soho, Friend, let us have your Company, if you go, as I 


suppose you do, to the Celestial City. So the man stopped, 
and they came up to him. But so soon as Mr. Honest 
saw him, he said, I know this man. Then said Mr. Valiant- 
for-truth, Prithee, who is it ? Tis one, said he, who comes 
from whereabouts I dwelt, his name is Stand-fast, he is 
certainly a right good Pilgrim. 

So they came up one to another; and presently Stand- 
fast said to old Honest, Ho, Father Honest, are you there? 
Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are there. Right 
glad am I, said Mr. Stand-fast, that I have found you on 
this Road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I espied 
you upon your Knees. Then Mr. Stand-fast blushed, and 
said, But why, did you see me? Yes, that I did, quoth 
the other, and with my heart was glad at the sight. Why, 
what did you think? said Stand-fast. Think, said old 
Honest, what should I think? I thought we had -an honest 
man upon the Road, and therefore should have his Com- 
pany by and by. If you thought not amiss [said Stand- 
fast] how happy am I, but if I be not as I should, I alone 
must bear it. That is true, said the other, but your fear 
doth further confirm me that things are right betwixt the 
Prince of Pilgrims and your Soul, for he saith, Blessed is 
the man that feareth always. 

VALIANT. Well, but Brother, I pray thee tell us what 
was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy Knees 
even now ? Was it for that some special mercy laid obliga- 
tions upon thee, or how ? 

STAND-FAST. Why we are, as you see, upon the En- 
chanted Ground, and as I was coming along, I was musing 
with myself of what a dangerous Road the Road in this 
place was, and how many that had come even thus far on 
Pilgrimage had here been stopped and been destroyed. I 
thought also of the manner of the Death with which this 
place destroy eth men. Those that die here, die of no 
violent Distemper. The Death which such die is not grievous 
to them, for he that goeth away in a sleep begins that 


Journey with Desire and Pleasure; yea, such acquiesce 
in the will of that Disease. 

HON. Then Mr. Honest, interrupting of him, said, Did 
you see the two men asleep in the Arbour? 

STAND-FAST. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold 
there, and for aught I know, there they will lie till they 
rot. But let me go on in my Tale. As I was thus musing, 
as I said, there was one in very pleasant attire, but old, 
who presented herself unto me, and offered me three things 
to wit, her Body, her Purse, and her Bed. Now the truth 
is, I was both a- weary and sleepy : I am also as poor as a 
Howlet, and that perhaps the Witch knew. Well, I repulsed 
her once and twice, but she put by my repulses, and smiled. 
Then I began to be angry, but she mattered that nothing 
at all. Then she made offers again, and said, if I would 
be ruled by her, she would make me great and happy, for, 
said she, I am the Mistress of the World, and men are made 
happy by me. Then I asked her name, and she told me 
it was Madam Bubble. This set me further from her, but 
she still followed me with Enticements. Then I betook 
me, as you saw, to my Knees, and with hands lifted up and 
cries, I pray'd to him that had said he would help. So 
just as you came up, the Gentlewoman went her way. 
Then I continued to give thanks for this my great Deliver- 
ance, for I verily believe she intended no good, but rather 
sought to make stop of me in my Journey. 

HON. Without doubt her Designs were bad. But stay, 
now you talk of her, methinks I either have seen her or 
have read some story of her. 

STAND-FAST. Perhaps you have done both. 

HON. Madam Bubble, is she not a tall, comely Dame, 
something of a swarthy Complexion ? 

STAND-FAST. Right, you hit it, she is just such an 

HON. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you 
a Smile at the end of a Sentence ? 


STAND-FAST. You fall right upon it again, for these 
are her very Actions. 

HON. Doth she not wear a great Purse by her side, 
and is not her hand often in it fingering her Money, as if 
that was her heart's delight ? 

STAND-FAST. Tis just so. Had she stood by all this 
while, you could not more amply have set her forth before 
me, nor have better described her Features. 

HON. Then he that drew her picture was a good Limner, 
and he that wrote of her said true. 

GREAT-HEART. This woman is a Witch, and it is by 
virtue of her Sorceries that this ground is enchanted. 
Whoever doth lay his Head down in her Lap had as good 
lay it down upon that Block over which the Axe doth 
hang; and whoever lay their Eyes upon her Beauty are 
counted the Enemies of God. This is she that maintaineth 
in their splendour all those that are the Enemies of Pilgrims. 
Yea, this is she that hath bought off many a man from a 
Pilgrim's Life. She is a great Gossiper; she is always, 
both she and her Daughters, at one Pilgrim's heels or 
another, now commending and then preferring the excel- 
lencies of this Life. She is a bold and impudent Slut, she 
will talk with any man. She always laugheth poor Pilgrims 
to scorn, but highly commends the rich. If there be one 
cunning to get Money in a place, she will speak well of him 
from house to house. She loveth Banqueting and Feasting 
mainly well, she is always at one full Table or another. 
She has given it out in some places that she is a Goddess, 
and therefore some do worship her. She has her times and 
open places of Cheating, and she will say and avow it that 
none can shew a good comparable to hers. She promiseth 
to dwell with Children's Children, if they will but love and 
make much of her. She will cast out of her Purse Gold 
like Dust, in some places, and to some persons. She loves 
to be sought after, spoken well of, and to lie in the Bosoms 
of Men. She is never weary of commending her Com- 


modities, and she loves them most that think best of her. 
She will promise to some Crowns and Kingdoms if they 
will but take her advice, yet many has she brought to the 
Halter, and ten thousand times more to Hell. 

STAND-FAST. Oh, said Stand-fast, what a mercy is it 
that I did resist her, for whither might she a drawn me ? 

GREAT-HEART. Whither? nay, none but God knows 
whither. But, in general, to be sure, she would a drawn 
thee into many foolish and hurtful Lusts, which drown men 
in Destruction and Perdition. 

Twas she that set Absalom against his Father, and 
Jeroboam against his Master. 'Twas she that persuaded 
Judas to sell his Lord, and that prevailed with Demas to 
forsake the godly Pilgrim's Life. None can tell of the 
Mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt 
Rulers and Subjects, betwixt Parents and Children, 'twixt 
Neighbour and Neighbour, 'twixt a Man and his Wife, 
'twixt a Man and Himself, 'twixt the Flesh and the Heart. 
Wherefore, good Master Stand-fast, be as your name is, 
and when you have done all, stand. 

At this Discourse there was among the Pilgrims a 
mixture of Joy and Trembling, but at length they brake 
out, and sang, 

What danger is the Pilgrim in, 
How many are his Foes, 
How many ways there are to sin, 
No living mortal knows. 

Some of the Ditch shy are, yet can 
Lie tumbling in the Mire; 
Some, though they shun the Frying-pan, 
Do leap into the Fire. 

After this I beheld until they were come unto the Land 
of Beulah, where the Sun shineth Night and Day. Here, 
because they were weary, they betook themselves awhile 
to rest. And because this Country was common for Pil- 
grims, and because the Orchards and Vineyards that were 
here belonged to the King of the Celestial Country, there- 


fore they were licensed to make bold with any of his things. 
But a little while soon refreshed them here; for the Bells 
did so ring, and the Trumpets continually sound so melo- 
diously, that they could not sleep; and yet they received 
as much refreshing as if they had slept their sleep never so 
soundly. Here also all the noise of them that^walked the 
Streets was, More Pilgrims are come to Town. And another 
would answer, saying, And so many went over the Water, 
and were let in at the Golden Gates to-day. They would 
cry again, There is now a Legion of Shining Ones just 
come to Town, by which we know that there are more 
Pilgrims upon the road, for here they come to wait for them, 
and to comfort them after all their Sorrow. Then the 
Pilgrims got up and walked to and fro; but how were 
their Ears now filled with Heavenly Noises, and their eyes 
delighted with Celestial Visions! In this Land they heard 
nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smelt nothing, tasted 
nothing, that was- offensive to their Stomach or Mind; 
only when they tasted of the Water of the River over 
which they were to go, they thought that tasted a little 
bitterish to the Palate, but it proved sweeter when 'twas 

In this place there was a Record kept of the names of 
them that had been Pilgrims of old and a History of all 
the famous Acts that they had done. It was here also 
much discoursed how the River to some had had its flow- 
ings, and what ebbings it has had while others have gone 
over. It has been, in a manner, dry for some, while it has 
overflowed its banks for others. 

In this place the Children of the Town would go into 
the King's Gardens and gather Nosegays for the Pilgrims, 
and bring them to them with much affection. Here also 
grew Camphire, with Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and 
Cinnamon, with all its Trees of Frankincense, Myrrh, and 
Aloes, with all chief Spices. With these the Pilgrims' 
Chambers were perfumed while they stayed here, and with 


these were their Bodies anointed, to prepare them to go 
over the River when the time appointed was come. 

Now while they lay here and waited for the good hour, 
there was a noise in the Town that there was a Post come 
from the Celestial City, with matter of great importance, 
to one Christiana, the Wife of Christian the Pilgrim. So 
inquiry was made for her, and the house was found out 
where she was. So the Post presented her with a Letter, 
the contents whereof was, Hail, good Woman, I bring thee 
Tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth 
that thou shouldest stand in his presence, in Clothes of 
Immortality, within this ten days. 

When he had read this Letter to her, he gave her there- 
with a sure token that he was a true Messenger, and was 
come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was an 
Arrow with a point sharpened with Love, let easily into her 
heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her, 
that at the time appointed she must be gone. 

When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that 
she was the first of this Company that was to go over, she 
called for Mr. Great-heart, her guide, and told him how 
matters were. So he told her he was heartily glad of the 
News, and could have been glad had the Post come for him. 
Then she bid that he should give advice how all things 
should be prepared for her journey. So he told her, saying, 
Thus and thus it must be, and we that survive will accom- 
pany you to the River-side. 

Then she called for her Children, and gave them her 
Blessing, and told them that she yet read with comfort 
the Mark that was set in their Foreheads, and was glad 
to see them with her there, and that they had kept their 
Garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the Poor 
that little she had, and commanded her Sons and her 
Daughters to be ready against the Messenger should come 
for them. 

When she had spoken these words to her Guide and to 


her Children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said 
unto him, Sir, you have in all places shewed yourself true- 
hearted, be faithful unto Death, and my King will give you 
a Crown of Life. I would also entreat you to have an eye 
to my Children, and if at any time you see them faint, 
speak comfortably to them. For my Daughters, my Sons' 
Wives, they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the 
Promise upon them will be their end. But she gave Mr. 
Stand-fast a Ring. 

Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, 
Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no Guile. Then 
said he, I wish you a fair day when you set out for Mount 
Zion, and shall be glad to see that you go over the River 
dry-shod. But she answered, Come wet, come dry, I long 
to be gone, for however the Weather is in my Journey, 
I shall have time enough when I come there to sit down 
and rest me and dry me. 

Then came in that good man, Mr. Ready-to-halt, to see 
her. So she said to him, Thy Travel hither has been with 
difficulty, but that will make thy Rest the sweeter. But 
watch and be ready, for at an hour when you think not, 
the Messenger may come. 

After him came in Mr. Despondency and his Daughter, 
Much-afraid, to whom she said, You ought with thankful- 
ness for ever to remember your Deliverance from the 
hands of Giant Despair and out of Doubting Castle. The 
effect of that Mercy is, that you are brought with safety 
hither. Be ye watchful and cast away Fear, be sober 
and hope to the end. 

Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered 
from the mouth of Giant Slay-good, that thou mightest 
live in the Light of the Living for ever, and see thy King 
with comfort. Only I advise thee to repent thee of thine 
aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness before he sends 
for thee, lest thou shouldest, when he comes, be forced to 
stand before him for that fault with blushing. 


Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. 
So the Road was full of People to see her take her Journey. 
But behold all the Banks beyond the River were full of 
Horses and Chariots, which were come down from above 
to accompany her to the City Gate. So she came forth 
and entered the River, with a beckon of Farewell to those 
that followed her to the Riverside. The last word she was 
heard to say here was, I come, Lord, to be with thee and 
bless thee. 

So her Children and Friends returned to their place, for 
that those that waited for Christiana had carried her out 
of their sight. So she went and called, and entered in at 
the Gate with all the Ceremonies of Joy that her Husband 
Christian had done before her. 

At her departure her Children wept, but Mr. Great- 
heart and Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned Cymbal 
and Harp for Joy. So all departed to their respective 

In process of time there came a Post to the Town again, 
and his business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he 
inquired him out, and said to him, I am come to thee in 
the name of him whom thou hast loved and followed, though 
upon Crutches; and my Message is to tell thee that he 
expects thee at his Table to sup with him in his Kingdom 
the next day after Easter; wherefore prepare thyself for 
this Journey. 

Then he also gave him a Token that he was a true 
Messenger, saying, I have broken thy golden bowl, and loosed 
thy silver cord. 

After this Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow Pil- 
grims, and told them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall 
surely visit you also. So he desired Mr. Valiant to make 
his Will. And because he had nothing to bequeath to 
them that should survive him but his Crutches and his 
good Wishes, therefore thus he said, These Crutches I 


bequeath to my Son that shall tread in my steps, with 
a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I 
have done. 

Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his Conduct and 
Kindness, and so addressed himself to his Journey. When 
he came at the Brink of the River he said, Now I shall 
have no more need of these Crutches, since yonder are 
Chariots and Horses for me to ride on. The last words he 
was heard to say were, Welcome, Life. So he went his way. 

After this Mr. Feeble-mind had Tidings brought him 
that the Post sounded his Horn at his Chamber-door. 
Then he came in and told him, saying, I am come to tell 
thee that thy Master has need of thee, and that in very 
little time thou must behold his Face in Brightness. And 
take this as a Token of the Truth of my Message, Those 
that look out at the Windows shall be darkened. 

Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his Friends, and told 
them what Errand had been brought unto him, and what 
Token he had received of the Truth of the Message. Then 
he said, Since I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what 
purpose should I make a Will ? As for my feeble mind, that 
I will leave behind me, for that I have no need of that in 
the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestowing upon 
the poorest Pilgrim; wherefore, when I am gone, I desire 
that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a Dunghill. This 
done, and the day being come in which he was to depart, 
he entered the River as the rest. His last words were, 
Hold out, Faith and Patience. So he went over to the 
other side. 

When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Des- 
pondency was sent for. For a Post was come, and brought 
this Message to him, Trembling man, these are to summon 
thee to be ready with thy King by the next Lord's day, 
to shout for Joy for thy Deliverance from all thy Doubtings. 


And, said the Messenger, that my Message is true take 
this for a Proof; so he gave him the Grasshopper to be a 
Burden unto him. Now Mr. Despondency's Daughter, 
whose name was Much-afraid, said, when she heard what 
was done, that she would go with her Father. Then Mr. 
Despondency said to his Friends, Myself and my Daughter, 
you know what we have been, and how troublesomely we 
have behaved ourselves in every Company. My Will and 
my Daughter's is, that our Desponds and slavish Fears 
be by no man ever received from the day of our Departure 
for ever, for I know that after my Death they will offer 
themselves to others. For, to be plain with you, they are 
Ghosts, the which we entertained when we first began to 
be Pilgrims, and could never shake them off after; and 
they will walk about and seek entertainment of the Pil- 
grims, but for our sakes shut ye the doors upon them. 

When the time was come for them to depart, they went 
to the Brink of the River. The last words of Mr. Despon- 
dency were, Farewell Night, welcome Day. His Daughter 
went through the River singing, but none could understand 
what she said. 

Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a 
Post in the town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he 
came to his house where he was, and delivered to his hand 
these lines, Thou art commanded to be ready against this 
day seven night to present thyself before thy Lord at his 
Father's house. And for a token that my Message is true, 
All thy Daughters of Music shall be brought low. Then 
Mr. Honest called for his Friends, and said unto them, I 
die, but shall make no Will. As for my honesty, it shall 
go with me; let him that comes after be told of this. When 
the day that he was to be gone was come, he addressed 
himself to go over the River. Now the River at that time 
overflowed the Banks in some places, but Mr. Honest in 
his lifetime had spoken to one Good-conscience ,to meet 


him there, the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and 
so helped him over. The last words of Mr. Honest were, 
Grace reigns. So he left the World. 

After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for- 
truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the 
other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was 
true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain. When 
he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them 
of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father's, and though 
with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not 
repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive where 
I am. My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in 
my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can 
get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a wit- 
ness for me that I have fought his Battles who now will be 
my Rewarder. When the day that he must go hence was 
come, many accompanied him to the Riverside, into which 
as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting ? And as he 
went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory? 
So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him 
on the other side. 

Then there came forth a Summons for Mr. Stand-fast 
(this Mr. Stand-fast was he that the rest of the Pilgrims 
found upon his Knees in the Enchanted Ground), for the 
Post brought it him open in his hands. The contents 
whereof were, that he must prepare for a Change of Life, 
for his Master was not willing that he should be so far from 
him any longer. At this Mr. Stand-fast was put into a 
muse. Nay, said the Messenger, you need not doubt of 
the truth of my Message, for here is a Token of the Truth 
thereof, Thy Wheel is broken at the Cistern. Then he 
called to him Mr. Great-heart who was their Guide, and said 
unto him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in 
your good Company in the days of my Pilgrimage, yet since 


the time I knew you, you have been profitable to me. 
When I came from home, I left behind me a Wife and five 
small Children, let me entreat you at your return (for I 
know that you will go and return to your Master's house, 
in hopes that you may yet be a Conductor to more of the 
holy Pilgrims), that you send to my Family, and let them 
be acquainted with all that hath and shall happen unto 
me. Tell them, moreover, of my happy Arrival to this 
place, and of the present late blessed condition that I am 
in. Tell them also of Christian and Christiana his Wife, 
and how she and her Children came after her Husband. 
Tell them also of what a happy end she made, and whither 
she is gone. I have little or nothing to send to my Family, 
except it be Prayers and Tears for them; of which it will 
suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure they may 

When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, 
and the time being come for him to haste him away, he 
also went down to the River. Now there was a great Calm 
at that time in the River; wherefore Mr. Stand-fast, when 
he was about half-way in, stood a while, and talked to 
his Companions that had waited upon him thither. And 
he said : 

This River has been a Terror to many, yea, the thoughts 
of it also have often frightened me. But now methinks 
I stand easy, my Foot is fixed upon that upon which the 
Feet of the Priests that bare the Ark of the Covenant stood 
while Israel went over this Jordan. The Waters indeed 
are to the Palate bitter and to the Stomach cold, yet the 
thoughts of what I am going to, and of the Conduct that 
waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a glowing Coal 
at my Heart. 

I see myself now at the end of my Journey, my toilsome 
days are ended. I am going now to see that Head that 
was crowned with Thorns, and that Face that was spit 
upon for me. 



I have formerly lived by Hearsay and Faith, but now 
I go where I shall live by sight, and shall be with him in 
whose Company I delight myself. 

I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever 
I have seen the print of his Shoe in the Earth, there I have 
coveted to set my Foot too. 

His name has been to me as a Civet-box, yea, sweeter 
than all Perfumes. His Voice to me has been most sweet, 
and his Countenance I have more desired than they that 
have most desired the Light of the Sun. His word I did 
use to gather for my Food, and for Antidotes against my 
Paintings. He has held me, and I have kept me from mine 
iniquities, yea, my Steps hath he strengthened hi his Way. 

Now while he was thus in Discourse, his Countenance 
changed, his strong man bowed under him, and after he 
had said, Take me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to be 
seen of them. 

But glorious it was to see how the open Region was 
filled with Horses and Chariots, with Trumpeters and 
Pipers, with Singers and Players on stringed Instruments, 
to welcome the Pilgrims as they went up, and followed one 
another in at the beautiful Gate of the City. 

As for Christian's Children, the four Boys that Chris- 
tiana brought with her, with their Wives and Children, 
I did not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also, 
since I came away, I heard one say that they were yet alive, 
and so would be for the Increase of the Church in that 
place where they were for a time. 

Shall it be my Lot to go that way again, I may give 
those that desire it an account of what I here am silent 
about: meantime, I bid my Reader Adieu. 


Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is riot mine, 

Insinuating as if I would shine 

In name and fame by the worth of another, 

Like some made rich by robbing of their Brother. 

Or that so fond I am of being Sire, 

I'll father Bastards ; or if need require, 

I'll tell a lie in print to get applause. 

I scorn it: John such dirt-heap never was, 

Since God converted him. Let this suffice 

To show why I my Pilgrim patronise. 

It came from mine own heart, so to my head, 
And thence into my fingers trickled; 
Then to my pen, from whence immediately 
On paper I did dribble it daintily. 

Manner and matter too was all mine own, 
Nor was it unto any mortal known, 
Till I had done it. Nor did any then 
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen, 
Add five words to it, or write half a line 
Thereof: the whole and every whit is mine. 

Also, for this thine eye is now upon, 
The matter in this manner came from none 
But the same heart and head, fingers and pen, 
As did the other. Witness all good men ; 
For none in all the world, without a lie, 
Can say that this is mine, excepting I. 
I write not this of any ostentation, 


Nor 'cause I seek of men their commendation ; 
I do it to keep them from such surmise, 
As tempt them will my name to scandalise. 
Witness my name, if anagram'd to thee, 
The letters make Nu hony in a B. 



University of California 


405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 

Return this material to the library 

from which it was borrowed. 

AUG 7 2007 





Nks, KodaKs, sialloncij 
3tt St.. Oakland. Cal.